Outside the Park Avenue Armory
Thursday, March 6, 2014
I packed up the next eight Meanders and arrived at the truck a little before 11. Walking from 72nd, where I got off of the M2, D called. She saw that John Walker had written on info@barbara14.com to say that he and Kayla were in town and would stop by at noon. I had B. in place and all of the paintings up before that. I decided though, as I had to arrange things in the truck that I would let them arrive without my waiting for them. I went back and forth from the truck to B.
On one of the trips from the truck to Barbara, I saw the Community Affairs Police Van pull up in front, an officer get out and walk around her. A civilian man was waiting for him. I saw this on the southwest corner of 67th and Park, as it was happening; I knew the importance of my being present and urgently crossed the street. I held out my hand to stop the heavy traffic coming down Park, crossed, and did the same on the uptown side.
I came around the front of the van and walked right up to the officer and the civilian. The officer was ablaze with attitude. He asked me if this was mine. He asked what it was. He accepted that it was mine. Not at all did he accept that it was a vending stand. After telling him that officer Delgado was aware of my presence, he said, “That dick-head.” I said that I had also spoken to Office Zorn and he said, “I’ve been at the 19th Precinct for 20 years and have never heard of him.” The officer said that he did not think that I could be on Park Avenue, and I pulled out the list of applicable codes and rules, including the relevant restrictions for Park, which were all below 59th Street. You could see the wheels spinning in his head as he thought of other things to ask. He asked about my posted prices and I pulled a painting out and showed him the back. As though quoting the rule book, he said, “The prices are conspicuously posted.” I supposed that he was recording the conversation. By this time, I had turned on my video camera. Much of the rest of the encounter is on the 14-minute video.
Officer Delgado arrived and repeatedly said that he had never seen a stand like B.
The first officer spoke in private, somewhat conspiratorially, with the security man. And, the officers got, into their van. I went to the window and asked if someone had complained. Officer Delgado said that the man who was walking away was the head of the Armory’s security and that he had called them. The rest is on my video.
After they left, I called D. As the officers had said that they had taken a picture of B., that they had to show it to “legal,” and that they would get back to me, I discussed, with D, what I might do. I had the names of some lawyers and the name of an organization that represents street vendors. D found their numbers, gave them to me, and I called them.
Also, D called back and said that she had found the perfect person for me to contact. In the meantime John Walker showed up. He was with Kayla and Russell. He appeared on my right, as I was standing on B’s right. I knew who he was almost immediately. He said, “I came at noon and you weren’t here.” I thought that he meant that B wasn’t there. We chatted for a second before Kayla appeared and a second after that, Russell. They stayed for 15 – 20 minutes. I suggested that Kayla go inside and she said that she already had. She took some pictures and I took a couple. Russell took some with my camera. John told me about his children, in particular about Rachel and Harry. As he left he reached out with his left hand for my right and said that he loved me. Always with John, though, it’s a bit of a grunt and, for that reason, hard to understand.
I called the attorney’s office, the legal association that represents vendors, and the person who D found. I was on the phone with the latter when Officer Delgado drove up in the NYPD’s Community Affairs van.
I hung up and before I could pull out my video camera, Officer Delgado said, “Good news. Legal said your okay. They said that they had never seen a stand like yours. But, you’re okay. You can be here. And, as long as you’re 20 feet away from the entranceway and the sidewalk is 12 feet wide, etc., you’re fine. He added, “One thing, do me a favor and just don’t come here next Tuesday. The president’s coming and if the Secret Service finds you inside this [B], they might just take you out. Take the day off.” I told him that I don’t work On Tuesdays. He repeated himself. By doing so, I thought he had the desire to exercise some control over the matter of B. I remained silent on the subject of the coming Tuesday and, instead, said that I would keep him posted, via e-mail, on B’s whereabouts. He accepted that. We chatted a few moments longer, and he left in his van.
Mary Lucier and her husband, Robert Berlind, who I had not met before, came by. She said that she had been watching all of the videos. And, after exiting B she said that the eight Meander paintings inside were the only pictures with which she was familiar. To me, she sounded disappointed. I resolved, after that, to show, going forward, a variety of the paintings. Robert said that the paintings and Barbara were all of a piece. I added that our interactions may be included, too. [I’m not certain, though, about the interactive side of the equation.]
I rely on the photographs and videos that I took to describe the rest of Thursday, March 10th’s progress. At closing, as I pulled the car up the sidewalk to the southeast corner of 67th and Park; at the corner, and standing off of the curb, a very nicely dressed young middle-aged woman turned to me and said that what I was doing looked as though it was a job for at least three men, and she added that she did not think that she could help.
As she said the last thing, the man from Wednesday morning, who had said how well done B was, appeared and said, “You see, people like your box!” He and I chatted for a little while, discussing what is and isn’t important. He mentioned that the next day was his 65th birthday and that it was time, for him, to do the things that mattered to him. He said that he would be coming to see the show, tomorrow, and that he would stop by.
I pushed B across Park, rotated her so that her turning wheels faced forward as she met the trailer, and as I did so, a heavy set woman, my age, in a long mink coat and with a German accent started to push B from behind. She said that I could not pull B up the trailer by myself and that she could help. As I explained to her that I had a crank and that I could manage, her friends were calling her to get in the taxi. She kept on insisting to help and said that it was painful to watch me do it by myself. Her friends called out for her. I thanked her and said that I would be able to manage. She went to the taxi and got in.
And, finally, that evening, after B was on the trailer and as I was covering her and strapping her down, a tall man, my age, stopped and began to ask about B. He lived in the building and had seen her on the trailer. He asked if she was art. He said the he was a dealer in marine art. “Another crook,” he said. Once we had struck up a bit of a conversation, he became very chatty. He had been a teacher in the Bronx on 9/11. The students asked him why it happened. He had told them, he said, that the people who did it hated us. He said that his students had asked him, “Why? We don’t have very much.” And, he said that he told the students that they did not understand how deprived people in other places really were. In the course of our conversation, I told him about the Chinese man, at the bus stop on Bowery and Broome, when I was moving B into place. [The Chinese man had called out to me, “No one cares about what you are doing.”] It was cold. The man said that he had to go in to get his dog. He kept chatting, though, and eventually did go inside.
While I finished up, he reappeared with his whippet. He showed me the dog’s coat to which he had sewn every type of–what he referred to as–offensive patch that he could find. The patches were from various and sundry military divisions, etc. He said that the women in the neighborhood would come up to him and say how beautiful the coat was, until they took a closer look. Another tidbit he mentioned was that his mother’s house in Connecticut was filled with antiques. She had died several years ago. And, finally, he and his sister had decided to call the local auctioneer and have him sell everything and “just send us a check.” It was cold. I was cold. He said that he would stop by and see what I was doing.