Barnes and Noble: the Textbook Company Store

During the 70s the original Barnes and Noble store on 5 Ave and 17 Street was the only place where students from many schools could buy or sell used textbooks. What an operation! You'd go on a Saturday during the beginning of a school term and there would be huge lines to sell books at a counter near the front door.

I'd lug a couple of big bags of books from the prior semester, hoping they'd take most of them. Finally I'd reach the counter, and inevitably the man there would fine that most of my expensive texts were not on the "Buy-Back List." I was stuck with these. When they did take a book I was lucky to get back a quarter to a third of what I paid. Paperbacks would fetch a dime to a quarter, and they would then sell them for a buck. For a few hardcover texts in big demand they'd actually give you half price. But that happened only once in 6 years of dealing with the Company Store.

Guidoed-Out

The 70s were the decade when everybody suddenly "discovered" their ethnic roots. For those of us of Italian ancestry, this could take the form of anything from learning a bit of the language of the ancestral land (a good thing) to the peculiar phenomenon known as getting "Guidoed-Out" (really dumb).

I went to college with a whole lot of guys who got into the Guido routine. It could usually take two forms for men:

1. The Fonz look. Fonzie was a greaser character from the TV series "Happy Days." Sure, he was played by a Jewish actor, but Fonz clones were not exactly into authenticity. Fonz clones typically wore DA type haircuts, leather jackets with fur collars and sleeveless t-shirts. My pal JT used to joke that we could get rich by parking a 50s convertible in the school lot, and then charging the Fonzies a few bucks a head to take their pictures behind the wheel or leaning on the fender. Fonzies tended to be politically conservative, although often disruptive in class. They were superficial rebels, but were really stuck in the 1950s when it came to values.

2. The Travolta Clones. These guys took their inspiration from that certain #$#$#@%$%$^^ film. They differed from the Fonzies chiefly in terms of dress. On the inside they were the same.

3. Rocky Clones. These were like Fonzies, except more athletic.

Regardless of whether one was a Fonz, Rocky or Travolta Clone, wearing a "cornu" was standard practice for Guidos. It's essentially a small model of a horn worn around the neck for good luck. I researched the symbol years later and found out that it, in fact, came from Greece. They also tossed around Italian phrases, although few were motivated to actually learn the language. Big cars, surface machismo, flashy jewelry and general conspicuous consumption characterized the Guido male. (I said "surface machismo" because their girlfriends usually controlled them with iron hands).

There was actually a guy from Italy at our school. He used to get mad as hell when he saw guys trying to be Guidoed-Out." "They t'ink t'ey're Italian!!! Look at me! I'm Italian! We don't act like t'at!"
I was sure he was right, and for years I have heard Italians ridicule the Guido mystique.

Speeding Up the Turntables at WWDJ

Remember radio station WWDJ before it adopted its 24-hour religious format?

In the early 70's FM was still coming into its own, and many, if not most, cars only had AM radios. Fortunately, there were a few music stations on the AM band, although none were terribly good. The DJs talked at a manic pace well into the start of a tune, and the play lists were very limited. Worse, the stations would seldom play the longer songs which were coming into popularity, such as "Stairway to Heaven" or the full version of "American Pie."

WWDJ was a bit cooler. They would play Top 40, like the competition, but supplemented it a bit with stuff like the tunes mentioned above, as well as comedy tracks from Cheech and Chong. This won them plenty of listeners amongst teenagers who couldn't afford sound systems for their cars.

But after a while some of us noticed something. Songs played on WWDJ sounded slightly faster and at a higher pitch than the original recordings. It wasn't THAT noticeable; you had to have a good ear to detect it. (An article I read in Stereo Review said that a 6% increase in turntable speed would raise the music a half tone- eg: from a C to a C sharp). A few years later I heard a DJ on another station talk about the practice; it allowed the stations space for a few more commercials.

Shortly after the turntables began accelerating, 97DJ announced "The Last Contest." Some lucky listener would be able to choose from over 100 prize packages - everything from a fancy car to a luxury trip. We all thought The Last Contest was just a gimmick. But it really was The Last. WWDJ had become a religious station, broadcasting a steady stream of evangelists. Those without AM radios who weren't into "The Hour of Power" had one less option.

Zabar's and the Coffee Shortage - 1976

I discovered Zabar’s in 1976 after learning that it was the only place in NYC (indeed, the only place on the East Coast!) that sold real Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. As most of you will recall, back in the 1970s “good coffee” meant the better brands sold by the can in supermarkets, or perhaps the Bokar beans which could be bought and ground at A and P stores. Gourmet coffee beans were sold in only a few specialty shops around town.

Jamaican Blue Mountain was considered by most the best coffee you could get. Although you could find cans of what was claimed to be Blue Mountain in many places, the Jamaican government certified that only two places in the entire United States sold the real stuff: Zabar’s, and another store in California. At the time Zabar’s occupied only a single storefront on the same block which it now dominates (the West side of Broadway between 80 and 81 Streets). It was a no-frills place, selling fancy cheeses, teas, sauces and of course coffee. 1976 was the time of a reported coffee shortage, and prices for even the cheap stuff were rising steadily. Zabar’s regular blends could set you back $5 a pound back then, and the Jamaican Blue (when they had it) was about $8. Adjusting these figures using the Consumer Price Index, $5.00 then equals $17.00 today, and that $8.00 price tag comes in at $27.36.

The very area in which Zabar’s was located was far from the yuppie stronghold it is today. Broadway looked alright, albeit not very elegant, but once you stepped onto the side streets you could easily find abandoned buildings, druggies and REAL dive bars. It looked more like the present day Hell’s Kitchen - a conglomerate of the old, the seedy, the pathetic and the up-and-coming.

When the Mob Tried to Shut Down NYC

In honor of Italian-American Unity Day, this store will be closed...."

So read the sign - in our local Chinese restaurant.

During the month of June, 1970, these red, white and green posters started appearing in shops throughout town, especially in areas with a large Italian population. They called upon New Yorkers to rally on June 29 in Columbus Circle to show pride in their Italian-American heritage, and to demand an end to the media's stereotyping of this ethnic group as a bunch of Mafiosi. Sounds like a civil rights movement, but this one was special, because the organizer of the event was none other than mobster Joe Colombo. What Joe wanted he got, which was why the aforementioned posters started appearing all over Brooklyn - in Scandinavian delis, Irish pubs, and, yes, even Chinese restaurants. The message did not need to be spoken; these stores were expected to close. I recall well the banter about my neighborhood. Most Italian-Americans were indeed disgusted with being labeled criminals. . In addition, it was well-known that other ethnic groups had organized crime gangs, so many considered it unfair that all racketeers were identified as Mafiosi. But Colombo was not just interested in ethnic pride; he wanted to proclaim that the Mafia did not exist!. Even his fellow crooks were dead set against the whole idea of Unity Day. As far as they were concerned, the less publicity they received, the better.

June 29th came, and many of those stores did indeed close. Thousands of people jammed Columbus Circle to hear speeches and wave red, white and green banners. In the midst of his speech, Colombo was shot by a small-time hood who himself was promptly gunned down. The assassin was killed, but Colombo was paralyzed and remained completely helpless for years before finally dying.

In a sense, Joe Colombo did get part of what he was demanding. Nobody stopped believing that the Mafia existed, but use of the term by the media clearly declined. Even Norman Lear got on the bandwagon with an episode of his classic Seventies sitcom, "All In The Family." When Archie Bunker made reference to the Mafia, an angry counterpart declared that "Duh woyd's deefunct, Bunkuh!"

The Grateful Dead at Roosevelt Stadium, 1974

Roosevelt Stadium was in Jersey City, but most of us there were New Yorkers, so I’ll include this one.

It was the summer of 1974. Nixon had just resigned, and the mood was jubilant. A friend who attended a Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young show on the night Tricky Dick stepped down said that the crowd was so rowdy the band could not do an acoustic set.

Getting to the stadium involved taking the PATH train from what was then called Hudson Terminal. The World Trade Center was under construction, and it was a pretty noisy, chaotic place. Once at Journal Square we caught a bus to RS, a run-down minor league ballpark on the edge of what was then a somewhat rundown town. Seating was general admission. True to tradition, our first stop was not at the stadium, where a long line was already forming about 7 hours before show time, but the nearby Pathmark supermarket, where we stocked up on beer. Only later were we advised by security personnel that no glass bottles or cans would be admitted, so we had to drink up before we went inside, several hours before the scheduled starting time.

It was then that the rain started. Our tickets said “Rain or Shine;” nobody made any announcements, and the Dead’s huge Alembic sound system was in place, so we just found seats in a section of the stadium that was covered. Everybody waited, and waited. Finally Bob Weir came out to announce that everyone was to come back the next week. Ushers gave us these paper rain checks, but also said that we could use our ticket stubs to get in the next time. This presented some people with a golden opportunity; if you had both your stub and one of those rain checks, then you could bring a friend for free.

Returning to the stadium we were prepared for the no bottle rule, and brought with us several empty gallon jugs. We just bought quarts of Bud at the Pathmark and filled these up. No hassles from Security; as long as your booze was not in glass or metal, you could bring in whatever you wished. This time the sky was clear and the entire field was filling quickly. The Dead always permitted taping of their shows, and there were always many microphones on high poles looming over the crowd. Many of the poles also held banners depicting art from the group’s album covers. It was almost like a religious revival.

At exactly 7:00PM the Dead came onstage, beginning with “Bertha.” Micky Hart was not with the group at the time. I was anxious to hear the amazing Alembic system in person, but for some reason on this night it was terrible, especially for the vocals; they sounded as if they came out of a cheap transistor radio. No matter. It was the Grateful Dead. After a long first set which ended with “Playing In the Band” everybody took a full hour intermission.

It was just after sundown when the second set begun with “Uncle John’s Band.” Fireworks boomed overhead. It really did feel like a magical experience, and I loathe describing things with such words. Our crew were Dead Heads. We believed in the Grateful Dead and the friendly, informal lifestyle associated with them.

After a while the whole stadium full of people seemed to be crowded onto the field. You could barely move. Going to the bathroom was not a practical option. Still, the crowd was incredibly orderly and good-natured. The show closed with “Loose Lucy” from the then-new “Ugly Rumors” album. Before the encore (“US Blues”) Jerry Garcia thanked everyone for coming. “You people are too much!” It was midnight when we started for home.

Not long afterwards Roosevelt Stadium was torn down and replaced with a housing development.

Watching Fulton Street Go Down the Drain

A strange guy in some sort of trance is seated in the lotus position atop a subway grating, a bunch of oddly shaped pipes (probably for smoking hashish) spread out in front of him. As he rocks back and forth he repeats "He's callin', man!"  Down the street the sign in a cheap clothing store reads "Stop! Crazy Freddy wants you in his pants!" There is garbage everywhere.

Welcome to Brooklyn's Fulton Street shopping district.

During the 70s Fulton Street was tanking. The street started out with four department stores, end ended with only one (all those which closed were replaced by government offices). It went from where you bought a suit to where people went to file for welfare or report to the parole officer.

Martin's was the high-end department store on the block. In an effort to control shoplifting they hired a team of security guards in dark suits who carried walkie-talkies and practically tailed everyone who came into the store.

Abraham and Strauss (now a Macy's) was the biggest and best of the Fulton Street stores, and the only one to survive. If you look carefully at the outside you'll note that it really consisted of two buildings right next to each other, and the floors were not exactly parallel. A&S had a direct entrance to the subway in their basement and three restaurants. Although it was usually pretty packed, the place was losing money like crazy, much of it due to shoplifting, and (I was told by a reliable source) employee theft.

The street and small stores were where most of the slimy action was on Fulton Street. Small record stores blasted their wares from sidewalk speakers so big that The Who could have used them. Often they played the same record, over and over. Groups of wise-ass kids ran in and out of the stores. Garbage was strewn everywhere. On one corner a street preacher would be screaming into a portable PA while on the other representatives of the Nation of Islam hustled copies of their erudite journal. They were quite aggressive about it. I remember once being accosted by one, who was wearing the obligatory bow tie.

HIM:  Here, Young Man! (holds out paper).
Me:  What's this?
HIM:  This is YOUR news, brother, this is YOUR news!
Me:  Wait, I'm Catholic...
HIM:  See, brother, we got your book here too! (Opens paper to article headlines "The Cross Means Slavery!"
Me:  No thanks.
HIM:  (Following me for a few steps down the street) Young Man, Young Man?

There were lots of urban planner types coming up with reasons why Fulton Street was failing. They blamed the suburban malls, and unemployment. Nobody wanted to admit the obvious;  people with a few bucks to their name did not feel comfortable on Fulton Street, regardless of their ethnic background. It was dirty, noisy and not very hospitable. They didn't want to be stalked by the Martin's Men In Black security force, or to be accosted by aggressive proselytizers. And they didn't need Crazy Freddy's pants. People who could took their money elsewhere.

"Mean Reefer and Chemicals" on 42 Street

Yeah, I know how cheesy 42 Street is now, what with McDonald's and Disney having replaced the XXX shows. At least the theatres were different from what you'd find at the Paramus shopping malls. But let's not be too nostalgic.  The Times Square of the 1970s was a dump, and people understandably avoided it. Here's one incident.

Back in 1977 I was hanging around in front of King Carol, a large record shop on the South Side of 42 Street between 6 and 7 Avenues, waiting for a friend. This young guy approaches me and extends his hand.  I've never seen the guy before in my life. The dialogue has not been lost to memory:

Him: Hey, what's happenin' Soul Brother? (extends his hand)

Me:  Nothing. (For the record, I am not Black).

Him: Come on, man, shake my hand!

(I shake his hand).

Him: Whatcha doin'?

Me:  Waiting for a friend.

Him: I know what you're doing, man. Some guy was gonna sell you some reefer or chemicals, man, and he didn't even show up!

Me:  Look, I...

Him: I'm tellin' you this, man, 'cause I got some mean reefer aaaand chemicals!"

Subway Lines We Lost During the 70s

The subways may have been dirtier during the 70s, with graffiti everywhere, both inside and outside the cars. But there were also several lines back then which were useful but no longer run. Here are a few:

The Bowling Green/South Ferry Shuttle on the 4 and 5 lines.
Walk to the far southern end of the Bowling Green Station and you will see a small, unused train platform from which a short shuttle train ran to South Ferry. The Shuttle utilized the same station at South Ferry as the #1 line. It was a fascinating double loop, with the Shuttle stopping on the inner track of the loop, and the #1 on the outer.

The Aqueduct Special
On the platforms at the 42 Street stop on the IND A, C and E lines are several staircases, now closed off. These lead to a lower level from which you could board special trains that went to Aqueduct Race Track in Queens. It’s a pretty long ride to “The Big A” via the A train, so this train must have been popular with racing fans.

“The Train to the Plane”
NYC has never come up with a good way to get from Manhattan to JFK Airport in Queens. But during the 70s the TA ran a special “JFK Express” which ran from 57 Street on the 6th Avenue line to the Howard Beach station, where you could get a shuttle bus to the airport. The JFK Express ran frequently; had no graffiti; utilized the most modern cars in the TA fleet, and had a cop on board each train. For this, the MTA believed, passengers would gladly pay an additional fare on board the train; I believe it was $3. Unfortunately, despite a heavy promotional campaign, the Express was a flop. Hardly anybody used it, and most who did were airport employees, and not travelers.

The EE and KK Lines
Up through the 70s the TA used double letters to designate local lines, and single letters for expresses. For example, the R train, which has always been a local, was the RR, and the L line the LL. The EE line ran part-time from the middle track at the Whitehall Street station on the Broadway line, through Queens, terminating at 71/Continental Avenue. This was distinct from the regular E, which at the time went from Rockaway to 71/Continental, with express service in Queens. The KK also ran part-time, from 57 Street on the 6th Avenue line down to Broadway/Lafayette, where it switched to the F tracks under Houston Street, and then switched again to the J tracks over the Williamsburg Bridge. From there it crept along the ancient Broadway (Brooklyn) elevated line to its terminus at the Eastern Parkway/Broadway Junction station in East New York. Since the KK was discontinued, no train has ran from Uptown and then over the Williamsburg Bridge to Brooklyn.

The QB and QJ Trains
The different letter combinations were a real oddity. Q apparently designated the Brighton line in Brooklyn. QB trains ran over the Brighton Line in Brooklyn, but then followed the B (6 Avenue) route in Manhattan. The QJ, which was discontinued in the early 70s, followed the Brighton line in Brooklyn, and then the J route back into Brooklyn via the Williamsburg Bridge, all the way out to the terminus in Queens. This was a long stretch for any motorman.

The Culver Shuttle
Get off at the 9 Avenue (Brooklyn) stop on the B line, which is actually in the midst of a train yard, and you will find stairs leading to a lower platform. From there the Culver Shuttle would rise from the train yard and then became an elevated line, passing the edge of Greenwood Cemetery over a private right of way on which freight trains could travel. After making a few stops in Borough Park the Shuttle tracks joined those of the regular Culver Line – the route of the F train, at Ditmas Avenue. The entire elevated line over which the Shuttle passed has since been demolished.

The Lost Stations on the J Train
The Jamaica Avenue “EL” may be slow, but it’s great for subway fans who want a taste of what the really old elevated lines were like. Into the early 70s the J train ran all the way to 168 Street, at the tail end of what was at the time a thriving commercial strip. Perhaps hoping that ripping down the portion of the J train which ran over the Jamaica Avenue merchant strip might help the faltering economy of the community, the TA in their infinite wisdom closed all stations East of 121 Street in Richmond Hill. Eventually, after the usual years of delays, they brought the J train back underground after that stop and ran it in a new tunnel under Archer Avenue to “Jamaica Center,” where it shares a terminus with the E train.

Alas, like much of the urban planning of the era, this did no good for the economy of downtown Jamaica, which continued to tank.

The Original Mid-Manhattan Library

During the 70s, If your college library was as lousy as mine you probably spent a lot of time at the Mid-Manhattan Library researching term papers.

When it first opened on 40 Street off of 5th Ave, diagonally across from the famous flagship library (the one with the lions), Mid-Manhattan consisted of the 4th and 5th floors of an industrial building. You entered via a scruffy elevator. Here was where the New York Public Library had its big collection of business, art and social studies materials. Instead of the card catalogues popular at the time, the NYPL indexed its collections in a series of huge paperback catalogues resembling phone books. There was a set for Subjects, another for Names and a third for Titles. Each entry was followed by a set of codes which told you where in the system the book could be found.

Even though the NYPL was hard-hit by the City's budget crises during the 70s, the Mid-Manhattan Library was open 7 days a week - a lifesaver to those of us who worked while going to school. One of my favorite sections of the place was the huge collection of college catalogues from all over the USA, grouped by state. Sometimes I would just browse through them- everything from big state universities to tiny Southern Bible colleges.

Turner and Kirwan of Wexford at To-Morrow's

Years before he became famous as the head of Black 47, Larry Kirwan was performing as part of an unusual folk rock duo that used to play at a Brooklyn Bar called "To-Morrows" (named for its owner, Tommy Morrow).

When you first walked into a TKW show you would think that a larger band was playing. Kirwan sat with an acoustic guitar, working a bass drum and hi-hat with his feet, while Turner played a mini Moog synthesizer and percussion. Both sang. They were very tight, and quite loud.

TKW did a great deal of cover tunes, including the Kinks' "Lola," The Bonzo Dog Band's "Urban Space Man" and a 50's spoof entitled "Why Must I Be a Teenager on Drugs?." The audience would hoot as they made reference to Bliss Park, a well-known hangout for dealers.

To-Morrow's was hardly a fashionable venue. Essentially it was one of a zillion bars in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn with a few tables in the back. I think that the cover charge was $3. There was a cheap bagel store across the street where we'd often go to have something to mix with the beer we consumed. The crowd could also get a bit wild. This never happened when I was at a TKW show, but several other times my friends and I would be in the back by the band when the power to the PA would suddenly be cut and the lights put on. Tommy would yell "All right, they're closin' me up!," and we'd file out onto the street, passing a couple of cops who had broken up a fight by the bar.

You'll often find used TKW LPs for sale on the web.

The 1970s' Unofficial Anthem

What song best captures the feel of the Seventies? Here are a few nominations. Note: the tune need not have been written or first performed during the decade.


"Won't Get Fooled Again." Not only were the lyrics prophetic, but it was one of the first really popular and successful uses of a synthesizer on a rock record.


"The Angry Young Man." Here Billy Joel responds to the idealism of the prior decade:

I believe I've passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage
I found that just surviving was a noble fight.
I once believed in causes too.
I had my pointless point of view.
But Life went on no matter who was wrong or right.

"Love to Love You, Baby." (Hey, I didn't say that the tune had to be good!) Here was the Seventies approach to sexuality. No talk about "sharing our bodies" or even "making love."


"Stayin' Alive." That was the goal for many people during the decade. The squeaky little voices also talked about "goin' nowhere."


"Freebird." Lynyrd Skynyrd produced the ultimate Arena Rock tune, which went on forever, featured extended guitar solos and sang of freedom from responsibility and commitment.

Any suggestions?

The Original Crazy Eddie

Most of us are familiar with Crazy Eddie from his manic television commercials (actually performed by an actor). You can find a brief history of his chain of electronics stores here .

But how many of us remember when Crazy Eddie started out in the mid-70s? It was at an audio store called Sights and Sounds on Kings Highway and East 12 Street in Brooklyn. (Although the site cited above describes the area as Coney Island, it was really Midwood. The store was near Coney Island Avenue, however). According to the stores radio ads (which I heard a zillion times on WPLJ (when it was a real rock station) you could call a certain number and "Ask for Crazy Eddie" to get a price quote.

I went to Sights and Sounds once in 1974, hoping to get a glimpse of Loco Eduardo. My friends and I went upstairs to the audio department and there was nobody working there. None of us bothered to ask where Eddie was, since we sensed the whole thing was a joke.

Anybody out there who actually saw Crazy Eddie?

When Did the Seventies Begin and End?

I think most of us would agree that the 70's did not begin on 1/1/70 and end on 12/31/79. The whole feel of the Sixties was alive at the begining of the decade. And the feel (or lack of feeling) of the Aweful Eighties didn't kick in exactly at midnight on 12/31/79. Here are a few ideas. Your comments and suggestions are welcome.

When the Seventies Began

1. With the breakup of the Beatles in 1970
2. When Nixon won re-election and demolished George McGovern in 1972
3. When Nixon resigned in 1974
   
4. When the last US service member left Vietnam in 1975

When the Seventies Ended (or when the Eighties began)

1. With the election of Reagan in 1980
2. When John Lennon was murdered in 1980
   
3. With the freeing of the Iran hostages in 1981
4. With the release of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" in 1982

Lasarium

Who remembers Lasarium, the laser shows set to music produced by and at the old Hayden Planetarium?

A pretty decent sound system would play a series of tunes and a "laserist" would project images upon the planetarium's domed cealing. At the same time, the star projector would periodically come on, providing a good backdrop, especially for the spacier stuff like Pink Floyd. The first Lasarium featured a mixture of musical styles, from metal to classical, but subsequent shows were often dedicated to one musical style or performer. There was Laserrock 1, a show set to "Dark Side of the Moon," and a classical production.

Tickets were pretty reasonable, and it was a popular place to take a date.

Brooklyn Invades Staten Island

"I'm no racist!" the Staten Island real estate broker assured me. "I'll rent to any black from Staten Island before I'll rent to a Brooklynite!"

Surely it must have been one of the great intra-city migrations in NYC history - when thousands of Brooklynites (most notably those of Italian ancestry) moved from Brooklyn to Staten Island, taking advantage of the new Verrazano Narrows Bridge. (Old times from SI called it the “Guinea Gang Plank). The movement started in the Sixties but was really taking off in the early to mid-Seventies. It was almost a cliche; Vinny and Maria from Bensonhurst marry and get their first place together on Staten Island.

The developers were waiting for Vinny and Maria. Houses and garden apartment complexes were popping up everywhere. Many of the homes had no basements; they sat on concrete slabs planted in rows on top of a former marsh somewhere. My cousin was one of the pioneers in her development, somewhere off of Richmond Avenue. Her two-family “mother-daughter” house was a long haul from any established neighborhood, and public transit was a farce. One bus had a graffito scribbled by some disgruntled driver that said something like “1960-1970" Brooklyn. 1970-1975 Bronx. Now SI. Tell the mayor we need new busses!”

The long-term residents of SI (defined as those who were there before the bridge) often scorned the new arrivals, ridiculing everything from their Brooklyn accents to the cars they drove. But they certainly made money off of them. The new buildings they put up were as cheaply-made as can be. If a lot wasn't wide enough for a house, they would put it in sideways. What garbage!

Gradually, an additional chapter developed for the Brooklyn emmigrants. As they got ahead economically (and these were very hard-working and entrapeneurial people, despite what the old timers thought) they frequently left for Long Island or New Jersey.

"Disco Sucks" - But I HAD to Learn to Dance to It

Who can forget the t-shirts with that phrase? Straight and to-the-point. My friends and I hated disco not just because of the music, but for what the whole movement meant to us:

• Clubs playing recorded music. Who the hell paid money to go hear records they could buy or listen to on the radio?
  
• The clothes. We wore t-shirts and jeans in the summer, flannel shirts and jeans in the winter. Disco atire stuck us as not only ugly, but pretentious and almost effeminate.
  
• The Greasers. Those where the guys who were most into disco. You know: foam rubber dice handing from the rear-view mirror, the Fonzie look, the big, noisy cars. Who wanted to hang out with them? And the women? Worse. All named "Adrian." Vain, preoccupied with clothes and makeup, loud and crude.
  

"Wait!, you say." "I was into disco, and I wasn't like that!" Friend, I am sure you were not. But we didn't see people like you where I hung out.

The Problem came in 1976, when I had a summer job with a bunch of people from all over who were very into disco. And most were not fitting the stereotype I described. The message was clear; if I wanted to hang out with these people, especially the women, I was not only going to have to listen to disco, but dance to it. To me "dancing" meant the free-style hopping up and down people did at concerts, or the slow stuff you did with girls at high school dances while the band played "Color My World" and you were wondering how long this would go on before you could either (a) get her to go outside with you, or (b) she would find herself some other victim to dance with.

So, one night I am at a party with these guys, getting really drunk on the sidelines, when Nicki comes over. She won't take no for an answer. No excuses about my bad ankle with her. She dragged me onto the floor and taught me "The Bump." Now, doing "The Bump" with Nicki was nothing like the "Color My World" experience, so I got into it right away. Then she taught me "The Hustle," which I could never get right. All I remember was "left, right, one, two three. Right, left, one, two three;" then trying to twirl her around. We didn't quite do it in synch, but I got to hang out with women like Nicki. The music? Well, I still thought most of it sucked, especially the Bee Gees. But I grew to tollerate some of it.

Monty Python at City Center - 1976

During the Spring of 76 the entire cast from the BBC’s extremely popular Monty Python’s Flying Circus played a series of performances in the elegant City Center theatre. Accompanied by guitarist/pianist Neil Innis of the Bonzo Dog Band, the Python crew did a show which essentially consisted of their most memorable skits and tunes adapted for the stage. I went three times with one of my old high school pals.

It was quite apparent that the skits had to be changed somewhat for an American audience. The Yuri Geller Institute of Advanced Spoon Bending became the Abraham Beame Institute of Advanced Finance, in homage to our then mayor’s fiscal talents, and the tune which won Chairman Mao ten points during the Communist Quiz was changed from “Sing a Little Birdie” to “Great Balls of Fire.”

Probably the most memorable skit was an adaptation of their vignette involving the Philosophy Faculty of the University of Wallamalloo, Australia. Dressed in bush jackets, Eric Idle and two other heirs to Aristotle handed out cans of Foster’s Lager and led the audience in a philosophers’ drinking tune.

“Renee Descartes was a drunken fart
‘I drink therefore I am!’”

Innis contributed several hilarious tunes to the show, including a parody of a Dylanesque protest tune which he introduced with the warning “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve suffered for my music. Now it’s your turn.” The grand finale was the Lumberjack Song, sung by Eric Idle with Innis on piano. During one performance George Harrison sat in with the team of Mounties on the chorus.

Arista records rushed out an LP containing the highlights of the show. I still have mine- with the cover autographed by several of the performers during an appearance at Sam Goody.

The OTHER Max's Kansas City

“Max’s is where you let your Freak Flag fly.”
- Jimi Hendrix.

Located across from the Northeast corner of Union Square, Max’s Kansas City was during the early and mid-Seventies NYC’s trendiest eatery and hangout. Frequently by the likes of Warhol, it catered to the “art” crowd, with owner Mickey Ruskin working the door to make sure only the right folks got in.

That was NOT the Max’s I remember. Upstairs from the restaurant was a small club where anyone who paid the admission could go to hear acts such as the Wailers (featuring both Marley and Tosh), the New York Dolls or that certain up-and-coming singer from Freehold, NJ. According to some accounts, the entire upstairs premises was at Max’s was illegal, although Mayor John Lindsay may not have been aware of this when he visited.

Some friends and I went to Max’s in 1976 to hear Kongress, a band who’s lead vocalist was missing his front teeth. Opening for the evening were the Dead Boys, who struck all of us as loud and crude (and we weren’t exactly chamber music buffs!). Kongress’s act consisted of a continuing series of loud riffs played while the vocalist grunted assorted Gothic phrases and did assorted pyrotechnics inside a caldron. The only lyrics I can recall were “I survived, though I was eaten alive,” which our toothless friend sang while dancing with a fake skeleton.

Several things struck me about Max’s upstairs. First, the waitresses hustled drinks with a ferocity I have never seen elsewhere. You would swear that our hawk-eyed server spent the whole evening with her eyes fixed upon the level of fluid in our beer bottles, ready to pounce as soon as they were empty. None of us were asked for ID, despite the fact that the oldest in our crowd was about 20. And the bathroom was so grungy you wished you wore thick rubber gloves.

Jorrrr-mmma! Rock and Roll at the Academy of Music

On 14th Street just east of Union Square once stood the Academy of Music, an old vaudeville venue which during the 70s hosted many great rock acts who were too popular for the clubs, but not sufficiently commercial for Madison Square Garden: Jefferson Starship (in their early days), the New Riders of the Purple Sage, Robin Trower, Hot Tuna - even the comic duo Cheech and Chong played the Academy, a once grand theater with two balconies. It was where I heard my first real rock and roll show – Jefferson Starship in 1974. Tickets for the upper balcony cost about $7.

To appreciate the experience of going to the Academy it’s important to remember that the Union Square area during the Seventies was not loaded with cafes, a green market and places like Starbucks. The park was seedy, loaded with drug dealers and considered too dangerous to go into at night. On 14th Street right off of the Square sat one of the many branches of Tad’s Steak House, where kids went when they had a few bucks and could afford the $3 dinner special, featuring beef that was as tender as a dog’s rawhide bone.

There was always a crowd under the Academy marquee. Lots of times kids went there without tickets, just to hang out. Dealers would weave through the crowd mumbling things like “I got Secanols; I got Phenobarbitals…” And of course there were the scalpers, whose usual rate was about ten bucks more than the face value of a ticket. The laissez-faire marketplace didn’t stop once you got through the door. A visit to the bathroom would find each stall occupied by a vendor of a different type of substance. And since nobody was ever stopped from bringing in booze, Boone’s Farm Apple and Matteus Rosé – the favorite of concert-goers everywhere – were always being passed around. Nobody ever threw away a Matteus bottle, of course; they were always recycled as candle holders and even table lamps (you could send for a kit).

No doubt about it. The best show we ever caught at the Academy was Hot Tuna – the blues band formed by Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady of Jefferson Airplane. Tuna was incredibly popular, despite getting almost no radio play, and they were almost always touring. Actually, there were two versions of the band. Acoustic Hot Tuna (as heard on the self-titled first album) consisted of only Jorma on acoustic guitar and Jack on (electric) bass, occasionally joined by a harp player. And then there was the Electric version, in which Jorma played at least five different axes, with Jack on both Flying-V and Fender P-basses, plus a drummer (at the time we saw them this was Bob Steeler).

Tuna typically did two sets a night – 8:00 and 11:30 PM, as did most Academy rock acts. But real Tuna fans always went for the later show. Since they didn’t have to clear out the hall, Jorma and Jack could – and did – play for upwards of four or more hours. It was like going to hear the Dead, except that Hot Tuna did not go out for long space jams; these guys played hard electric blues for the entire set. When I didn’t home after about 5:00 AM on the night of my first Tuna show, my mother called the police, who informed her “We always get calls from parents when Hot Tuna plays.”

All of us mourned when the Academy became the Palladium discothèque. Let’s face it; fans of bands like Hot Tuna and the New Riders were not likely to be seen lining up outside of 2001 Odyssey! I caught Jimmy Cliff there once in 1989; it was a good show, but the new owners had gutted the place, which now resembled, well, a disco. A while later New York University replaced the entire building with student housing. As they showed years later with the Bottom Line, NYU showed itself to be no friend to rockers.

Talkin' 'Bout MY Generation

Welcome to the sister blog to my NYC History site.

This blog covers some of our mutual experiences during the 1970s. NYC was on the verge of bankrupcy - remember the famous DAILY NEWS headline? "Ford to City: Drop dead!" It was the tail end of the hippie generation and the begining of what Tom Wolfe called the "Me Generation." The subways were filthy and covered with graffiti. Crime was at an all-time high. But...

We had REAL rock and roll at places like the Academy of Music and Upstairs at Max's. You could still afford a decent apartment. People were starting to realize that the suburbs weren't for them, and were begining to buy and renovate houses in areas like Park Slope. Parents weren't going broke buying clothes for their teenagers - because we weren't so obsessed with such stuff. Ed Koch talked the feds into doing something to help the South Bronx that really WORKED. Concert tickets weren't outside your budget.

I grew up in that era. My pals and I thought of ourselves as keeping the spirit of rock and roll alive during the era of tunes like "Disco Duck." We refused to wear designer stuff. College was an absolute farce. I went to St. John's University - the Staten Island campus, which resembed an episode of the 70's classic sitcom "Welcome Back Kotter" - complete with a slew of Travolta wannabes. Many of our profs were ex-hippie types (a couple still had long hair) while the kids mostly wanted to become accountants because they thought it was the fastest way to make money. What a perfect example of the era!