Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride

from August 8, 2007

Every neighborhood has its own unique character. Likewise, every neighborhood has its own unique characters. Everyone knows the people who stand out, whether for their odd personality or their strange style. These are the people known to everyone who lives there, the ones who give the neighborhood color. Like the Sasquatch of the Pacific Northwest, these characters have become almost mythic in nature, but unlike the Sasquatch, they are seen everyday by people like you and I. These are all actual people. You may have seen a few of them.

The Wheelchair Lady

Area- 86^th Street, generally between 19^th Avenue and Bay Parkway, but sighted as far away as 4^th Avenue.

The Wheelchair Lady is a woman in a wheelchair, possibly in her fifties, wearing a poncho and rain hat no matter what the weather. She has been seen in a variety of colors, but has most often worn a yellow or clear poncho. This local character has been sighted at all hours of the night, morning, or afternoon. She has been spotted sitting in stores at   3 p.m. and on street corners at 3 a.m. Usually, she can be seen propelling down 86^th Street. It is unknown, and even doubtful, if she is actually disabled. She moves by using her legs to push her chair backwards very quickly. It is also doubtful that she is homeless. Despite being constantly outside, she does not seen to carry many belongings with her, indicating that she has a home or a place to keep her things. Often, she has been seen with a bunch of flowers in the chair with her. On occasion, the flowers have appeared to be plastic, but they do appear to be different every time. She has also apparently shopped on the street, as indicated by the bags which hang from her chair from time to time.

The Gaudy Jewelry Woman

Area- 20^th Avenue, between 86^th and 84^th Streets.

This woman lives on or near 20^th Avenue towards 84^th Street. She is easy to spot. The Gaudy Jewelry Woman wears very large, bright, fake jewelry. Usually wearing yellow, but sometimes red, this woman wears a huge necklace of bright beads that range from a couple of inches in diameter to nearly six inches in diameter. She wears very bright matching earrings. Like all of her jewelry, these are clearly fake, if not plastic. The earrings are generally large, thick hoops, big enough to hide her face when seen in profile. She wears matching clips in her hair, and makeup thick enough to qualify her as a circus clown. While she is spotted doing normal things, like shopping, her bizarre appearance makes her stand out, and the bright colors scream for attention. In a bizarre footnote, she may be a fan of Anna Nichole Smith. After the death of the actress, the newspapers published pictures of her from her final movie. Anna Nichole was shown wearing bright makeup streaked and slashed across her face, as though it was applied in front of a strong fan. The makeup was, apparently, from a scene in the film in which Anna Nicole had undergone, or was undergoing, some trauma. In the days following her death, The Gaudy Jewelry Woman was seen wearing the same makeup.

The ROTNAC

Area- various, but not 18^th Avenue.

ROTNAC is the granddaddy of all local characters, the crème de la crème. Active since at least the early 1980s, ROTNAC has been seen in many corners of Brooklyn, but he seems to live in Bensonhurst. He has been spotted on the subway, the bus, the street, in restaurants, and shopping. He is around fifty years old, with a head of thick black hair, now graying, and a thick beard. He is fat and wears shabby clothes. The most remarkable thing about ROTNAC is his headgear. In the winter it is a furry hat. In the summer it is a baseball cap, but what sets them apart is the sign saying “ROTNAC” that he either attaches to or writes on his cap. This is how he is known. It is not unusual for him to walk down the street amid a chorus of “Hey Rotnac!” One theory is that ROTNAC, read right to left in the Hebrew style reads as CANTOR, so ROTNAC is a cantor. He does look and dress as though he would fit in a synagogue. He is usually sighted carrying a large, full, plastic bag which contains any number of items, including a very odd, telescoping tennis racket.

I here include, in the interest of historical accuracy, my first person account of an up close and personal encounter with the ROTNAC in November of 2003. This is excerpted from an email to Marc on the evening of the event.

Tonight at about 6:45, Sheryl and I went to have dinner at Adelman’s Deli on King’s Highway. Let me set the scene. Adelman’s is a long narrow restaurant. You walk straight past the deli counter and the dinning section begins. You are then standing at the head of three aisles of tables. The first table of the center row is directly in front of you. There was a short line, so Sheryl and I waited, about four people away from that table. Seated alone at that table, facing us, front row center, was Rotnac.

Rotnac was well known to the waiters. “How you doin’ Rotnac?” one asked as he went by. (He was doing fine.) When he asked for his check, the waiter responded with a grin and “the check is in the mail.” (They both got a laugh out of that.)  He paid his check from money he took out of an old-fashioned woman’s change purse. Although I didn’t see it, I believe the purse came out of the sort-of bird-watcher’s thing around his neck.

Sheryl and I were then seated, but of course all eyes were on Mr. Rotnac. After asking for the check, he took out a small cell phone (that surprised me) and called someone who, from what I could gather, is his girlfriend, or at least a female friend he is close to. They may even live together. It wasn’t clear. Anyway, he told her that he was worried sick about her. (She was supposed to meet him.) He was so worried that, and here I directly quote: “I was so worried that I almost had to give up my side dishes.” I love that line. He said that he would meet her at home, and he had a long walk to the train. She wanted to meet him on 18th Avenue. He then stated that he didn’t know 18th ave.  Frankly Marc, this stunned me. I have seen this man ambling all up and down Bay Parkway and 86th Street. I encountered him many times on the B train, and even, on more than one occasion, saw him stroll down my block towards 20th Ave. I thought that South Brooklyn was his oyster. I still can’t grasp that statement.

I was looking forward to his exit because it would undoubtedly be just as interesting as his entrance. However, I never saw him come out. It was possible, of course, but unlikely, that he could come out without my seeing him, let alone quietly or without comment, but  I never saw him come out, and when I went to the men’s room a half-hour later, I fully expected to see him in there, probably asleep or on the phone, but he wasn’t. I firmly believe that he went through the kitchen and out some back door. It would just fit

 If anyone has any information about ROTNAC please inform me immediately.

Joe Buswaiter

Area- Bus stop on the corner of Bay Ridge Parkway and 21^st Avenue.

Joe Buswaiter has not been active since the early to mid 1980s.

“Joe Buswaiter,” as my father dubbed him, was a shlumpy-looking man who stood, from about 8 in the morning to 4 in the afternoon, at the bus stop across the street from my house for a period of months in the 1980s. He gave every appearance of waiting for the bus, but when the bus came he would step back and give a little shake of the head. He did not seem to be looking for any particular bus, or any particular person on the bus. Also curious is where he went or what he did after 4 p.m. Usually he would just walk away toward Bay Parkway. One day he simply did not turn up at the bus stop and was never seen again. As the myth goes “maybe he finally got on the bus.”

The Defender of Bensonhurst.

Area- 20^th Avenue and 85^th Street.

The defender is a wannabe goomba who hangs out on the corner and yells at people he doesn’t like, or people he thinks don’t belong. According to local lore, he defends the neighborhood “with a cell phone in one hand and a beer in the other.”

All of these are actual people. There are more, but these are the ones that stand out. If you have any stories of these or any other local characters, please send them to the Department of Urban Lore and Local Characters, Miskatonic University, care of this blog.

from August 5, 2007

Ah, August! Love is in the air! Or is that the humidity? At any rate, I feel nauseous. Inspired by the impending nuptials of Marc and Emily, my tale of my semi-near-sort of-brush with marriage:

This happened about five or six years ago. My building has always had a certain percentage of apartments rented by Russians who stay a few months and then leave. This seems to be their first stop in America. (“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, send them to Bensonhurst,” you know the poem.) I rarely get to know them for a variety of reasons.

A- They don’t stick around long enough.

B- Many speak only a few words of English.

C- I am an antisocial prick. (But you love me when you get to know me!)

But occasionally I get into a conversation with one or another of them. Usually it begins like this: “Excuse me, you are teacher?” I can’t explain it. For some reason it gets around that I am a teacher. I’ve been asked that by four or five immigrant Russian parents over the years, people whom I could not pick out of a police lineup. I’ve been offered tutoring jobs, once even as a math tutor, but never accepted one.

Well, this story is about a proposition of a different kind. I was in my lobby on a Saturday getting the mail when someone whom I knew on sight only, and just barely, asked me if I knew his daughter. I said “No.” He said “wait a minute” and ran up the stairs.

I took my mail and got in the elevator, back up to my apartment.

A couple of days later I was coming home from work and the guy and his daughter were in the hallway. I had seen the daughter around. She was about 20 or 21 at most, very nice looking but not quite attractive. He jogged over and laughed “I missed you the other day!” Or at least that’s why I think he said. He had a very thick accent. It may have been “I pissed you the other day,” but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I said “sorry” and pressed the elevator button. He said “you know my daughter?” And now I really became curious, but mostly suspicious. I said that I’d seen her around. (I’ll try to get the conversation as close as I can remember.)

GUY- You like her?

ME- I don’t even know her.

GUY- She like you. Why don’t you go out?

The elevator came but I was sticking around for this one.

ME- She’s too young.

GUY- You work hard. Why don’t you two go away for weekend? (And some Russian words to his daughter.)

His daughter was standing about fifteen feet away, somehow managing to look both embarrassed and coquettish at the same time.

ME- I really don’t think so.

Now I was ready to get in the elevator but it had left.

GUY- You go away, go to beach, I pay. Food, room, I give money. (With that he took a huge roll of cash from his pocket and waved it at me, then put it away.)

ME- OK, look, forget it, I’m really not interested.

He put his arm around me. Not only did he not lower his voice as you’d expect, he raised it.

GUY- Don’t worry, she cook, she clean, and how about the sex? (Here I felt so sorry for her.) She’ll do anything! She’s good!(And he looked at her, and she smiled!)

I asked him point blank what the hell he was doing. Very seriously, and now with a lowered voice, he told me that his daughter had to go back to Russia and he wanted to marry her off to an American so she could stay in the country. He’d heard I was a teacher and, because I had a steady city job, thought I could be the one. He told me that he’d pay for everything, rent, food, etc. He again told me that she’d do whatever I wanted when it came to “the sex.” The guy was pimping out his daughter for a green card!

I told him, firmly, that I wasn’t interested. I went upstairs when the elevator mercifully came and eventually they left the building and I never saw them again.

But I’d often wondered what it would be like to have married her. Would I have a dacha in Brighton Beach? Would I come home to fresh meals of borsht and vodka? And what about all the “the sex” the father had promised? I figure that by not marrying her, I saved myself from getting in severe trouble with the Russian mob, with whom this guy was undoubtedly involved. So I may be missing out on vacations on the Volga, but I still have two good strong legs.

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BONUS! BONUS! BONUS! BONUS! BONUS! BONUS!

And now, The Bloggy Award for Our Favorite Music Score in a Major Theatrical Film:

Best use of swing music in  a Godzilla movie- Godzilla vs. The Cosmic Monster– Godzilla rips a patch of fake skin off his duplicate, who then reveals himself to be a robot- cue the cool swing music!