I came to know my friend Eric aka “Sleazy E” through his
performances with a man known as Dirty Diamond, who sings raunchy parodies of Neil Diamond
songs. Eric has since moved to Portland, Oregon after living in New Orleans and
Philadelphia.
Eric was coming back East for the holidays and I agreed to
pick him up from J.F.K. Airport at 5:30 in the morning because doing so was the
kind of pre-dawn adventure I really didn’t need but would greatly regret not having.
My friend needed to get from the airport to Penn Station very early on a
weekend morning and that’s not a fun time even during normal waking hours, and
it was rare to get an audience with the Sleazy One, since he’s on the West
Coast now.
The roadways of J.F.K. Airport comprise a spaghetti bowl of
shame and signage. I ran at least one red light I didn’t realize was there, and
had to abandon my aided navigation for just reading signs, but I managed to get
to the right passenger terminal and soon Eric and I were on our way to GoodFellas
Diner.
GoodFellas Diner wasn’t always called that. It was named
such because scenes from the movie ‘GoodFellas’ were filmed there. We drove through the quiet streets of
Maspeth among warehouses, lumber yards, and loading docks. It’s a part of the
city that still retains some of the industrial grit that made New York the
engine of commerce that it is.
We were the only customers when we walked in, but not long
after we sat down a young couple sat a few booths away and then a large,
flatbed tow truck parked next to my van and the driver joined the small breakfast
rush.
Catching up with Eric made it worth the early morning drive.
He’s developed a biting yet healthy cynicism that informs his approach to
enjoying life without excuses. Originally from Camden and raised in
Philadelphia, he’s accustomed to more rough and tumble ways than are
commonplace on the West Coast. He is constantly amazed by the soft-bellied
practices of Portland denizens. His longtime dream is to open and run a pizza
parlor; a slice of pizza is tattooed upon his arm among other things, and he
apprenticed at one of Philadelphia’s most well-regarded pizza restaurants.
We discussed how the tourist traps of Philadelphia have
promoted Cheese Whiz as an essential ingredient because tourists fall for it as
“authentic” and it saves them the money they would have to spend on real
cheese. The better, lesser-known cheese steak makers preferred by locals will
use real cheese.
Our breakfast at GoodFellas was on-par diner fare and the
atmosphere remained unpretentious and authentic. We made sure to take some
photos before we left. We swung by a 7 Eleven so I could get more coffee and
then made our way into Manhattan.
Our navigation took us through a midtown that was still waking
up. Adorned for the holiday season, I was able to give Eric a quick rolling
tour of some of the holiday season’s more notable city locales. Park Avenue offered
a sweeping rear view of the Helmsley Building and many trees in midtown are
lined with lights from trunk to bough. Going down Fifth Avenue, The Rockefeller
Center Christmas Tree was bright and glowing in the early morning light, St.
Patrick’s Cathedral was a silent sentry over the layered holiday décor of Saks
Fifth Avenue.
But true to our mission, we soon found ourselves at the
entrance to Penn Station. Penn Station was once a place of grandeur and the
city is trying to make that happen again by turning the old Farley Post Office
into the new Penn Station. Until then though, Penn Station is a confusing and
squalid place, and as I dropped Eric off for the second part of his journey to
Philly, the life forms of the old New York were milling about as a form of
disorganized welcoming committee; a near perfect assembly to begin a sojourn to
Philadelphia.
I bid farewell to my friend there on 8th Avenue,
wishing him a happy holidays and safe travels, and hoping he would bring his
surly ways to New York soon again.
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