(Authors note: As of this writing it is three days before the midterm election, which will determine whether we throw off the yoke of MAGA WORLD. Well, that’s what they tell me on TV. Either way I can’t put together any ideas for a column, so I’ll cop out and tap into some old files still bouncing around in my head.)
Dateline Hunter College 1970. After 4 years of Catholic High schooling at the now defunct Bishop Ford, the last thing I wanted to do was go to college. But I didn’t want to get drafted either, so with the help of a guidance counselor I entered Hunter college as a freshman in the fall of 1969.
In the first weeks there I attended classes but soon realized I could cut class and no one would notify my parents. There were no black robed Franciscan brothers to smack me around. So why go to class when you could smoke a joint and wander around the Upper East Side. On one of these afternoon jaunts, I was walking by a row of limestone townhouses on Park Avenue just across from Hunter. One had a sign announcing a “Pan American Art Exhibit” OPEN TO THE PUBLIC. Hey that’s me! I went in.
I was stopped by a short doorman in what looked like a Seargent Peppers outfit. He looked at my tie-dyed shirt and asked. “Whadda ya want kid?”
“I was gonna look at the paintings.” After slight hesitation he said “Yeah ga ‘head.” The place was deserted. Hanging on polished ebony walls were large landscapes of South American mountains and rivers. The doorman walked around the gallery with me, mostly out of boredom. “Where you from kid.” “Brooklyn.” “Oh yeah? “Me too!” We continued talking until he noticed some figures making their way in. He suddenly grabbed me and pushed me behind the large open door to the room, hiding me behind it saying, “BE QUIET!”
Peering around the door I saw four men in dark suits and shades (think men in black) enter the gallery and take positions around the room. Followed by a pink faced elderly man in a frock coat. The doorman greeted him with almost a bow. The old man shuffled around the room, nodding at the paintings. Then he left without a word, followed by the men in black.
“Ok kid, you can come out now. “Who the fuck was that?”
As he edged me to the exit the doorman said……
“That was David Rockefeller.”
