We’re thinking Manhattan in 2016 and Toronto in 2017. I’m the planner. BH thinks we’re going to drive into the Big Apple on June 1st and find an apartment on the upper east or west side for $1000 a month. Well, that’s not going to happen. I start thinking of the people I know in New York. Voila! Larry! He’s an old friend from Queens and I know he’s living in his aunt’s apartment in Manhattan now. Maybe, he would go on vacation and we could sublet or he may know someone in the building we could sublet from.
I haven’t heard from him in awhile and, unfortunately, his phone number and address are back in Maryland. Time to do a Google Search. Can you imagine how many Lawrence Steinbergs there are in New York City??!! I try to narrow the search and find an article from The New York Times, an obituary. I start reading, never thinking for a minute that it could be my Larry Steinberg.
“STEINBERG—Lawrence R, 67, died March 16, 2010, of a heart attack. A member of IATSE Local 52, Larry was a grip for 30 years. (Oh, no. This is what he did. I looked at the credits at the end of every movie). Beloved husband, father, grandfather, brother and uncle, he was a fine musician, a great cook and gardener. Larry graduated HS of Music and Art (1960) and Queens College (1964). He is survived by his wife, Miriam, his sons and stepsons, his grandchildren, his brothers, and his father. His sudden death saddens us all.”
Definitely him. Devastated. My God! It happened five years ago and I’m just finding out?! Incredulous. I’ll never see him again….at least, not in this lifetime. I’m reminded of “Fire and Rain,” the James Taylor song.
“I’ve seen sunny days I thought would never end, I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find
a friend, but I always thought I’d see you again.”
He was much better at staying in touch than I was. He and Miriam visited when they were in the Baltimore area. He called and asked me where to go in the panhandle of Florida as they were planning a trip in the spring. I sent him articles. That was late 2009. And then he died.
I never even considered the possibility. He was about 5’10” and never overweight a day in his life. My God, his father lived well into his 90s. Larry loved manual labor. He left a cushy job as an Anthropology professor to be a carpenter.
As you know, my philosophy degree wasn’t opening any career doors for me so I went back to school to get certified as a history and social sciences teacher. That’s where I met Larry. While I was taking courses, I was working as a graduate assistant in the Sociology and Anthropology Department at a small college in Connecticut.
His brilliant blue eyes, crazy curly hair and genuine smile captured me fairly quickly. It was mutual. We were both trying to recover from marriages that had failed. There was no shortage of guilt since both of us had small children.
He hated being an academic, which I think he did to please his very successful parents. But, it wasn’t who he was. After he left the college, he bought his carpentry tools and traded out jobs. He built a porch for a mechanic who put a new engine into our VW bus. He joined carpentry crews in New Hampshire, Connecticut and New York. I usually worked on the crews, too.
Once, we worked on a crew in the Theatre District, totally renovating a brownstone for Joe Allen, the proprietor of the famed Joe Allen’s Restaurant. At the time, he was engaged to the Broadway star, Chita Rivera. This was to be her palace….the sky was the limit. He trusted me to pick out all the paint colors, which, at the time, I thought was very flattering. The final product was exquisite and then she broke up with him. Ugly, very ugly. But, i will tell you this. Joe Allen makes a to die for vichyssoise, which I had never tasted before and I’m sure will never taste again.
Larry found a little house in the North End of Hartford and bought it for $10,000. Not the best neighborhood and not the best house. Definitely the best price. The seller was a single man who had lived there for over 30 years and had never cleaned it a day in his life. It was covered in layers of grease. But, we turned it into a happy little home with a coal burning stove and butcher block island.
Larry cooked all the meals. Not kidding. He made the best sauces. One of his favorites was spaghetti with clam sauce. I’m not a huge fan of clams so after eating it about 30 times, i was done. How truly ungrateful I was.
Having graduated from the High School of Music and Arts, he was a fine pianist. Very relaxing blues and jazz music wafted through the house. He imbued me with his love of baseball, having grown up as a Mets fan. We’d take our small black and white television out on the back porch and watch games on warm summer nights. Occasionally, we’d splurge for tickets to see the minor league team in New Britain.
I taught him how to play bridge and we found another pair to play with and, actually, played day and night for 45 days straight. Very little cooking, a lot of imbibing and minimal sleep. But, we were young and stupid.
Truth is, we were crazy for each other. He was a true love for me, and I for him. Too often, with loves that heat up fast and furiously, they can’t handle the long distance.
His days of being ambitious were over. He wanted a more relaxing lifestyle….one that included smoking weed multiple times daily. I hadn’t even started a career yet. I needed my independence, my own place, my own money. Remarriage was not on my radar for a very long time.
He did remarry a few years after we separated….a totally laid back woman who adored him. They came to my wedding a few years later when Kevin and I married in 1982. They had two children who were the same ages as my two, biracial as well. We moved to Maryland and they moved to New York so he could pursue working in the movie industry.
For a few years, he and i shared a very loving, sweet life together. He was a gentle, loving soul. In a few weeks, I’m having a reading at the spiritualist colony, Cassadaga. Maybe I’ll meet him there.
No comments:
Post a Comment