HUNGRY GERALD

Some 60 years ago, HG was a New York journalist. There was a pleasant custom at International News Service/International News Photos (where HG was employed). Jewish journalists would volunteer to replace their non-Jewish colleagues on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day so the non-Jews could enjoy these holidays with their family. And, that’s why HG worked at the news desk on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Where to have dinner? HG’s favorite dining places were closed. The shot-and-beer-chaser bars were open but populated by maudlin or surly drunks. HG’s workplace was on E. 45th, just east of Third Avenue ( at the time, the El was still rumbling overhead). Nearby Lexington Avenue had a Bickford’s Restaurant on the northeast corner of 45th and a Horn and Hardart Automat on the southeast. So, Christmas Eve HG dined (with good appetite) at Bickford’s. The special of turkey with all the fixings (and extra gravy upon HG’s request) was tasty. Dessert was pumpkin pie a la mode and HG “corrected” his coffee with cognac from HG’s concealed flask. Christmas Day found HG at the Automat. Three hot casseroles were lined up before HG (plucked from the Automat’s windowed wall of savories): Beef Pie, Macaroni and Cheese, Baked Beans (topped with a strip of bacon). Coconut custard pie for dessert. “Corrected” coffee. Well meaning friends expressed concern that these meals might prove depressing. They were not. Yes, HG’s fellow diners were not a jolly group. But, the lonely folk were quiet and unobtrusive, allowing HG the peace in which to read a bundle of newspapers while sipping brandy-laced coffee.

Bickford’s was a chain of plain spoken, very inexpensive New York eateries that stayed open late and advertised: “Breakfast Anytime.” There were 48 in 1960; 42 in 1970; two in 1980. The last one closed in 1982. Should they be mourned? Yes. Somehow their bleak decor and the loneliness of the customers encouraged literature. The 42nd Street Bickford’s was the hangout of the Beat novelists, poets, musicians and critics. Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs and Alan Ginsberg all wrote there, aided by many cups of good Bickford’s coffee. In fact Bickford’s is mentioned in both Burrough’s Junky and in Ginsberg’s seminal poem, Howl. William Styron mentions Bickford’s in his work. So does Woody Allen. It was Andy Warhol’s favorite for takeout coffee. HG was fond of Bickford’s apple pancakes, rice pudding and cheesecake. In a wistful late night mood, HG wrote some very bad proletarian poetry at the Bickford’s on the northeast corner of 45th and Lexington. HG also spent a Thanksgiving there which was almost as depressing as the fictional Thanksgiving scene in Woody Allen’s Broadway Danny Rose.

New York doesn’t honor its writers and artists the way Paris does. Sartre and de Beauvoir are identified with Cafe Flor. Hemingway and scores of painters made the brasseries and cafes in Montparnasse their second home. And, this is acknowledged by those circular blue Paris signs. But, there’s no literary marker on W. 42nd Street. And like those missing markers, HG’s poetry has not survived (Thankfully!).