A few years ago (OK…quite a few years ago) I was visiting NYC. It was a beautiful and sunny Spring Monday and I wandered around town with no particular place to go. At some point I came across a small city park. I picked up a can of cold Foster’s Lager at a bodega across the street. The large Fosters can fit perfectly into a small paper bag they gave me at the shop, which apparently made it legal to drink on the street. (No one could possibly guess that I had alcohol in this plain brown wrapper, right?) There may have been a pretzel from a street vendor involved as well, but don’t quote me on that.
There was an old, ornate fountain in the middle of this park so I sat on the edge to enjoy my refreshment and people-watch for a bit. In what is probably an “only in New York” moment, a photographer wanders into the park with a beautiful model, a young female assistant, and a young guy to carry some equipment and (most importantly) handle a big reflector to help direct appropriate light when the model was being photographed. The set up was to have the model walk along the fountain ledge I was sitting on while being photographed. I offered to move but the photographer said “no, you’re fine,” so I stayed put and watched the proceedings up close.
They were ready to go fairly quickly and Reflector Guy got to work, standing in front of me directing the sunlight. People walking by started gathering on the perimeter to watch the proceedings. Suddenly I noticed Jim Carroll and his girlfriend walk up and join the crowd of other watchers. Reflector Guy noticed him at about the same time I did. He says to the photographer and the model “Look, it’s…it’s…” but he could not come up with the name. The photographer and model either didn’t know or didn’t care who Jim Carroll was, so Reflector Guy turns to the female assistant and says “You know him, right?” Her response was a blank stare, which I took to be a “no.” “You know” says Reflector Guy, more urgently, “all my friends are dead dead dead…all my friends are dead dead dead!” More blank stares from his whole group now. But in a moment of clarity he turns to me and says “What’s his name?” He must have sensed I would have the answer. “Jim Carroll” I stated calmly.
“Yeah, Jim Carroll! All my friends are dead dead dead. He’s a big hero of mine!”
I’ll take him at his word on that, despite the fact that he couldn’t name his “big hero” and that he repeatedly misquoted his only well-known song, “People Who Died.”