Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

So then it was just me and Uncle Al in that tiny apartment. Even with less people in it, it still felt full. One day I asked Al if he thought it was haunted by my parents. I was just kidding around with him. And he said, “Of course. Where else would they go?” I don’t think I had fully recognized what was going on with Al, how bad he had gotten, because my mother was the one monitoring the situation; it was her full-time job. I’d been sent out more than a few times to pick him up if he was sleeping in a park somewhere, and I know that it made my mother feel more secure with me being back home, but I wasn’t home enough to know the complete reality. So when they passed, I found my whole life turned on its head. I had to watch my uncle Al. Now, he was lucid most days, very smart with his head in the books, always the intellectual, but also he was sleeping on the streets half the time. He was too skinny and he had awful bruises. And I just didn’t feel comfortable letting the man wither, especially after my parents had just passed. I’m a human being. We’re all human beings. We look after each other.

It was either I had to watch him, or I had to check him into a mental institution of some sort, and I wasn’t in the financial position to do that, not yet anyway. It would have had to be somewhere sort of high class, not some awful state institution. I knew Al would never survive in a place like that; I’d heard those operations were miserable, real torture chambers. No way, not for my uncle Al.

What I was doing was, I was working all day for Frederick French, who was a very famous and successful developer at the time, but of course someone you have never heard of before because you are a child. This was just before he started on Knickerbocker Village, but he had numerous other properties in development. I was at the bottom of the totem pole but that was fine, I just wanted to get my foot in the door. I didn’t want to work in ties for the rest of my life. How far can you really go with ties? So I’d work from very early in the morning till early evening, and then I’d go home, and if all was well in the world, Al’d be sitting there waiting for me. And we’d have dinner, and maybe we’d go for a stroll through the neighborhood, us bachelors, and maybe we’d have a drink. Also on nice nights we’d go to Washington Square Park so Al could play chess, and I’d smoke a cigar and watch him destroy those poor schmoes who dared to take him on. These were the best nights, and I had sort of resigned myself to this kind of life, at least as long as Al was alive.

But if all was not well with the world, I would come home, and there’d be no Al. And I’d have to hunt the streets looking for him. If I got lucky, he was down the block, or he was playing chess, or he was at the library. If I wasn’t lucky, it could take hours and hours, or I wouldn’t find him at all, and then I’d just be sleepless. It wasn’t that the cops were beating him up anymore, they’d sort of forgotten why they were even mad at him in the first place; they’d found someone new to pick on I guess. It was just that he was damaged goods. He was an easy target. Someone else could beat him up or rob him and he wouldn’t fight them off. And the streets were getting rougher. People were desperate. I lived in fear for Al.

One of the places I’d look for Al was Finny’s, which no longer exists of course. The last time I checked, and this was more than a few years ago, it was a head shop. But at the time Finny’s was one of those untouchable joints. Prohibition or not, there was always Finny’s. The cops liked it; I think that helped. I wasn’t much of a drinker before then, and I wasn’t after, but for that period of time, those darkest days with Al, I can admit I sought some relief in a glass of beer. Oh, I was depressed, I guess. I had work, I was one of the lucky ones, but it seemed like no one else did. People were starving on the streets. We were all sad.

On top of that it seemed like my youth was passing me by in service of this man who did not seem to want to be helped. Of course he wanted his freedom. Of course he did! Who among us would want to have to sit at home and wait for someone? But I’d had this dream that eventually I would settle down, I’d get married, I’d have kids, I’d build this life that wasn’t expected of me but that I expected of myself. But instead I was just chasing Al around every night.

Now the other person walking the streets checking on the lost souls, as you know, was Mazie. The early thirties, she was just starting to become the person she was going to be, if that makes any sense. I guess she was a bit of an eccentric too. I mean what kind of woman wanders the streets like that? At least that’s what everyone used to talk about at Finny’s. Sure, there was a hypocrisy there. Why was I allowed to and she wasn’t? Well she was doing it anyway, so it doesn’t matter what any of us thought.

Mazie’s Diary, October 5, 1930

The lads at Finny’s like to tease me about walking the streets. Like I’m a streetwalker, a real one. Oh Mazie’s got a new part-time job, ho ho ho. Last night I twisted one of their ears, and I saw tears in his eyes, though he wouldn’t admit it.

I said: I’m a queen, and don’t you ever forget it.

He said he wouldn’t.

George Flicker was there, too. I’ve always liked him fine, even though he spends half the conversation staring at my bosom. Once in a while I take his face in my hand and lift it up to meet my eyes. I don’t think it’s funny, and neither does he, but we both laugh anyway. I’d get mad at anyone else, but I’ve known him too long. I know he’s not a bad sort. I think he’s a good sort, actually. Except for the wandering eye.

Last night I sat with him after I twisted that man’s ear.

He said: I know why I’m walking the streets but what about you? It’s not safe out there for a lady. I don’t listen to these jokers over here. I know you’re a real lady.

I started talking and I didn’t stop till I was done. I wish I could remember what I said! I was in a frenzy.

George Flicker

She gave me this speech once and I’ll never forget it. It was this especially rough night at Finny’s, the guys were teasing her. These were the days they still teased her. She was still young and pretty enough that they cared to bother. Isn’t that an awful thing to say? Well I’m old now, and I know the truth, so I can say it. So they’re teasing her, saying she’s a streetwalker, getting customers, whatnot. And she socked some guy in the ear I think. She said, “I’m the queen!” And everyone started laughing. So I offered her this safe haven with me at a corner table. But I’d been drinking and I couldn’t leave it alone. I asked her why she did what she did when she could have just stayed home safe.

And she said, “These are dark days, Georgie. The city’s lost its pride. And what does it cost me to buy these fellas a drink or two? Or to give them some soap to clean up with, or to buy them a place to rest their heads for the night? It’s change that I already got in my pocket. What else am I going to do with it? Buy another dress? I got a whole closet full. Go on vacation? Where would I go? I live in the best city in the world. Buy myself a fancy dinner? Give me my sister’s cooking any old time. No, my change goes to these fellas on the streets. I used to give my money away to strangers, I didn’t want to look them in the face, I didn’t want to know where it went. Now I want to know where it’s going. I want to make sure it’s making some kind of difference. I walk these streets because I want to help. Why is that so hard to understand?”

She got pretty emotional. She wiped some tears from her eyes. I handed her my kerchief. Then she said, “Is it so hard to believe I could be a good person?”