That’s me on the front page of the New York Times business section. In the 80’s I travelled all the NY boroughs (using public transit) with a mechanical monkey, kazoo, whoopee whistle and tambourine. By the time I ended my telegram career I had travelled on every subway line from one end to the other. The two worst trips were Coney Island and Staten Island.
I would have to carry 2 to 3 garbage bags filled with a dozen balloons in each bag and sometimes a gorilla costume. I sang to Iman at Halston’s penthouse. I met Woody Allen in an upper east side apartment private elevator. I was wearing a gorilla costume and I said to him: ” Mr. Allen, don’t you remember me? I was in one your early movies that were funny.” He didn’t think that was funny.
Most of the time the jobs were quick and easy. Singing for a secretary in midtown Manhattan or going to a grocery store in Brooklyn to sing to a butcher. (He really didn’t want me there and I ended up in the meat freezer singing). I even had to go to an ice-skating rink as a gorilla and skate on the ice and sing.
My two worse experiences: It was my second job. I had to go to an upper east side Chinese restaurant for a bat mitzvah. I sang this song once, but I still can’t forget it.
The kids hated it. After my performance the father came to me holding a wad of cash and smoking a cigar. “So that’s it? I paid forty dollars for this? Can’t you juggle or tell jokes?”
My second worse experience was that very same week. I was hired to go to an upper east side beauty salon, and they wanted three dozen balloons. I took the Lexington line subway from my apartment in the village. It was three pm. Just when kids were getting off of school. We stopped at the 34th street station and hordes of young adults get on board. Just as we start moving one of these children of the corn decided to push the fag holding three bags of balloons and dressed in a red tuxedo. So, he pushes me and everyone on the train starts pushing me until all my balloons had burst. But the really humiliating part of this was as they were pushing me back and forth. I started saying “You Guys, You Guys” and all kids on the train started mocking me saying “You Guys, You Guys” I got off the next stop carrying three garbage bags of dead balloons and feeling humiliated.
I made most of my money from tips. I think they paid me $25 per telegram, which if it was down the street in Manhattan from my house was pretty good. But tips really helped. The biggest tip I ever got was $500 at an Italian Restaurant in Hoboken. Another customer who was smoking a cigar holding a wad of money.
dick'sblog 