HUNGRY GERALD

HG attended City College of New York  (the Harvard of the Proletariat) in the years 1946-1950. The College was intellectually elitist and demanding. In those years it was very overcrowded due to the influx of returning World War Two veterans. That meant being flunked out if your grades fell behind. No appeals. The atmosphere was Jewish left wing, the sons of immigrants and the sons of families economically bruised by the Depression. Women were a tiny minority (HG refers to the West Harlem campus of the College). Argument, violent argument, was the favorite pastime of the student body. This was no dispassionate search for consensus or truth but rather a take-no-prisoners, humiliate-your-enemy exercise in sheer hostility and aggression. This contentious activity served HG as good preparation for his long career as a New York press agent.  It has not served him well in family discourse. Oddly, his family tolerates his excesses. HG subsisted on one meal a day, two oranges and many cups of coffee. HG had a modest athletic career. He was in the backfield of an incompetent football team.  The Beavers (that was the unfortunate nickname) played and practiced on the rock hard, virtually grassless surface of Lewisohn Stadium (the Stadium’s prime function was to house summer classical concerts, a highlight of now forgotten New York).  The oranges were consumed before practice.  After practice HG needed additional fuel for his homework, part-time job and –very once in a while–romantic dalliance.  So, off he went to a West Harlem restaurant identified with a simple name: Bar-Bee-Cue. Yes, this was down home, soulful African-American cooking. HG was the only white customer but since he was there at least four times a week he soon became a familiar. The counterman knew HG played football for the College so he was usually greeted with a smiling comment: “Did’n do so good on Sar’day, didjoo? When you gonna win one?” “Just wait. We’ll surprise you guys.”
Big laughs. Then came the meal. Big (and HG means big) pork spareribs smothered in a hot, semi-sweet spicy sauce. Mashed yams with a chunk of melting margarine. Macaroni and cheese. Collard greens adorned with chunks of ham hock. Well filled basket of corn bread. HG must emphasize: These weren’t portions. These were mini-mountains. All washed down with sweet iced tea. As much as you could drink.  The cost: Something like 75 cents plus a quarter tip from big spender HG. Allegaroo, indeed.