So, I need to go on a diet. Just not comfortable with the weight. Better to do it before the Holidays. Got to cut out cheese, all kinds of cheese. I like the artisan cheeses, the low fat cheeses and the artificial cheeses. No more junk food. But, if you had to guess, would you believe the phony stuff goes back to the 1800’s. Yup. They have been Cheese Whizzing us for more than a century. Damn. Here, I was worrying about genetically modified foods.
Author: duckshots
Lapsed lawyer. Reader. Photographer. Jewish. Strongly attached to loving, caring, wife-Sharon. Working at remaining relevant. Hoping that my body and mind outlive my dreams. Maybe something I blog will make some sense.
VERMONT Shuts Down For Winter
Just let’s say people still visit the Lake Champlain boardwalk and need to go to the bathroom. But the facility is closed. In Burlington, manners predominate. I never call a “John” a ‘Facility.” Sharon’s Mother used to call it a “pissoire,” which could have been the only french word she spoke. Well, they will just have to use the facility at ECHO if they have to go.
Getting a creamy can also be problematical.
Dave Parker Accused of Bank Robbery
In my legal career, I represented a couple of Bank Robbers. One, my first Federal case, resulted in a dismissal. My investigator, Sharon Duckman, believe it or not, and I timed the trip from the bank to where the alleged thief, my knuckle headed client, was arrested, and, argued, along with some other evidence, that he could not have covered the distance at rush hour. In another case, one which I acted as standby counsel didn’t end up the same way. My client, a man with a prior for the same charge, received a pack that blew up, covering him with orange sludge. Captured on video, the FBI agent who had previously arrested him, recognized his face and proceeded directly to his home. My client let him in, made a full confession and then either allowed the agent to search his house or they got a search warrant, I cannot remember which, leading to the discovery of the clothes, bank bag and some other detritus connecting him to the crime. Oh, did I mention a handwriting expert tied him to the demand note? I did the opening and the closing statements and cross-examined the agent. He represented himself, doing the rest. A jury convicted him. Sentenced to 20 or 30 years, he brought an ineffective assistance of counsel motion against me, arguing I didn’t ask the agent the questions he wanted asked.
I spoke with a few other bank robbers and may have represented one or two. They struck me as being different. Bold. Defiant. Fearless. One told me the drug of choice for bank robbers was coke, because you needed courage, even if falsely provided by drugs, to walk into a bank and demand money. Armed or not armed, the robber has to have a plan. The guys with the loot stand behind counters. People with guns guard them. Cameras record everything. Silent alarms notify the cops. Slick, direct and quick. Come in unobtrusively, make a demand, take the money and run. The robber has to have an entrance plan and an exit plan.
Read today that Dave Parker robbed a bank. Don’t care if he did it or didn’t do it. No one hurt physically. Sure some traumatic effects on the bank people. People who rob banks don’t think about such things. I wonder what they do think about? Can’t be that they will enjoy the money and live happily ever after. Maybe they do, who knows?
I got one idea. Getting cold out there. When you don’t have a place to live and you have drug and alcohol problems, in addition to a TBI, going to jail rather than a more serious and tragic alternative, could be an easy way out. Who knows? He deserves a fair trial and a just sentence. But it’s a drastic solution to a solvable problem.
Jack Lavery Perseveres
So, he sits in the park, smiling, talking to strangers. Not many on the streets of Burlington, despite its beauty and grandeur. People live elsewhere and have to work. Jack says he did as little as possible. Worked in a cemetery. I asked him what he was doing sitting in Battery Park on a chilly fall day? “Waiting for two women in bikinis to take me home.”
I could have waited with Jack, but the second girl probably had been spoken for by the General.
Vanishing Manhattan Gas Stations Hosts The Duckman’s From Vermont
When Sharon and I recently visited NYC, we went to Chelsea to see Burtynsky and Nevelson/. On the corner was this gas station that had been converted to an art piece before it will turn into condos. Called “Sheep Station,” by Francois-Xavier Lalanne, this outdoor installation brings art and sculpture to a wide range of people who would not otherwise come in contact with such creative works or see creativity in ordinary things. Many thanks to the Paul Kasmin Gallery and collector Michael Shvo, who is also a real estate developer, like who else could afford to do this, but, concededly, it’s promoted in good will.
Richard Serra was installing a new piece, but he wouldn’t let me take his picture, even after I told him that I was the only person in America who liked “Tilted Arc.”
We felt very comfortable with the sheep, moutons, as the artist calls them, since we come from Vermont.
Richard Cave, a/k/a Caveman a/k/a Israel
So, I know him as Caveman. Easy monicker, like mine, based on the surname. Recently found a spiritual name. He says his mother was Jewish. Parents sat shiva when she married a Catholic. He took on a biblical name, one that denotes he is one of the people. Me, I am a Kohane, a word that doesn’t mean anything to him, Jewishly speaking.
These guys on the street act in several plays. Not many of us has the courage to even live one. 71 years old and starting to look it.
He tells me we used to hang out in the same places in the Village in the 70’s. His friends and I went to New York Law School together. Now, he lives on the streets. Moving to Waterbury on Wednesday into a sober house. Wants to make a movie about street life.
Poor Is Poor
One gas station in Chelsea became a pasture for fake lambs as it awaits a high priced condominium complex near the art galleries. New York can be bought during the last days of the Bloomberg Era. Lambs will buy the units. sacrificing reason for a touch of make believe class.
But the billionaire Mayor hasn’t figure out how to make trickle down work, yet.
New York City has 8,000,000 stories. Not all of them speak to success and achievement.
Joshua Chasan, Wood Sculptor
Rabbi Joshua has a show in the back at the Maltex Building on Pine Street. Figures that a rabbi would select wood as a medium, since trees have special significance to jews. He chisels, making shapes for the light to shine through. The colors come from gentle strokes, highlights, midtones and some darks, changing the subject into extra-worldly matter. Any narrative becomes yours for the taking.
He wanted to call the piece, “Campy’s Glove.” How many remember Campy? The Hall of Fame would adore a spiritual wooden piece to go with the sculpture by Beielstein which sits outside the library. Perhaps, the adjustor, healer whose nameplate appears behind his head might like it, also.
A healer from the Wellness Collective on the third floor passed by. After I introduced Joshua as the artist/sculptor, she said, “I think about your work all the time. It makes me feel so good. I was wondering? Do you use a chisel?” What an honor for an artist to hear love while being asked for instruction.
Jeremy
Says he’s been on the street, travelling for 12 years. Has his faith and a Mother. She doesn’t tell him the truth, but his faith does. Never wants for anything. Lives day to day. Doesn’t want help, but asks for money.
They come and go. New ones every week. How do they find Burlington. Noway here from there. He says he’s been here before, but I have never seen him. Where he came from? He said everywhere and nowhere. Where’s he going? Doesn’t know. Will work for cash. Now, that’s smart. No taxes. Doesn’t have to contribute to Social Security. What would he do? Who would hire him? Carries a duffle and a garbage bag. And he has his sign.
Richard and Skip Feed the Ducks
Last time we saw Richard, he and the sailor shared the set. Richard, today, came to feed the Ducks and mourn his sister’s death. He casts potato chips on the water attracting Ducks while remembering his sister. I tried to explain that potato chips weren’t good for Ducks. “…, they come right up to me and eat them. They like them.”
Skip aged since out last shoot. “Hard out here. Slept here last night …. You age fast on the street.”
Lot of effort goes into shooting on the street. Sometimes, you gotta find them. Sometimes, you gotta have equipment. Never know, as a street shooter. Then I gotta get them to stand still, which really isn’t easy if they are stoned, drunk, on meds or angry. I could go on. The biggest stressor? Do they trust me? Damn. I love seeing them. Fear their deaths. Questioned about the people I know or knew, I show them a portfolio of recent photos. Most of my notebooks have two copies, because I haven’t been able to find the person pictured. Never give to people who promise to deliver. Another thing to carry.
So, Richard talked, after he heard from me, “… about being alive, being alive, being alive.” “You gotta do what you gotta do, … even if it means doing what you can do.”