• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
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The Breakfast Club

Jim had a breakfast club, a group of friends who met every Friday at a diner in Chelsea for the last nine years. Many were in attendance at the wake and funeral. It was just last Friday when Jim didn’t show up that the group suspected something might be wrong.

A young man from the club spoke at the wake. He was shy at first, talked about coming to New York from Madison, Wisconsin and his great good luck to fall into a breakfast group with one of New York’s finest. He told the story of how Jim got one of his nicknames. Apparently a fight was escalating and Jim, afraid of fighting, pulled some kind of psycho routine instead, got the guy’s head in a lock and bit off part of his earlobe. Our young man allowed as to how this pre-dated the Mike Tyson incident. And thus Jim was dubbed Starry Night for the painter, the poetry, the ear.

Only later, after the wake, after the funeral, as I was walking  up Sixth Avenue, thinking about how much Jim loved to walk the avenues of his city, did it occur to me that he probably appropriated, embellished or made up that story completely. I got back to my office. The clock read 12:12. A most propitious hour.  Sleep well, Starry Knight.

7 Responses

  1. Nice. 🙂

  2. Aww.

  3. They did not listen, they did not know how.
    Perhaps they’ll listen now.

  4. Wabbit. Daisy. And … Starry Night? Most people never get even one nickname.

    Also, the number thing. Seat number on a plane had to add up to 9; he even got me doing that.

    Damn, I miss him.

  5. THAT IS A BEAUTIFUL STORY FOR A BEAUTIFUL GUY, I WILL MISS HIM FOREVER. A FELLOW POET , K

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