Poetic License: Drinking Buddies
We nicknamed him “Negative Phil”
because he had learned
to substitute the military form
of denial for the simple word “No.”
At three o’clock every afternoon,
he sat in the same corner stool
at Dresner’s Other, a bar on 88th
and 2nd , welcoming each new arrival
with a nod and lift of his beer stein
and if they responded, added
“at ease, men” then waited
for a reciprocal nod, an offer of drink
or conversation.
Negative and I,
hit it off from the start and we became
friendly dueling-banjos factoid mavens,
playing barroom Jeopardy:
“First player to play for three New York teams?”
“Who is Waite Hoyt, of course.”
“Quarterback against the Giants
when game broadcast
was interrupted by Pearl Harbor?
“Who is how can I forget Ace Parker?”
“Comedian composer of ‘Sam, You Made
The Pants Too Long”
“Who else but Uncle Miltie”
Some of the other regulars
told me he spent a lot of time
in the Yorkville library reference room
looking up questions
with which to trap me.
I didn’t mind, our bouts entertained
the regulars, occasional patrons
and Freddie the bartender, all of whom
joined in occasionally
with trivia traps of their own.
But when we ran out of questions,
he would begin talking about the city
in the good old days and how things
would never be the same again,
Jimmy Walker and LaGuardia,
they were real mayors and characters
and everyone was an American then
and not this minority crap,
affirmative BS, something
for nothing, Vito Marcantonio
giving Puerto Ricans 29 dollars airfare,
putting them on welfare
so they could keep re-electing him
to Congress — until one day I corrected him,
“Eighty dollars, Negative,
my mother paid eighty dollars to come over
on the banana boat from Puerto Rico.”
His face flushed for a few seconds,
then with the biggest s— eating grin
I’ve ever seen he asked me,
“So you know Roberto Clemente,
Rita Moreno and Herman Badillo?
I lied and answered,
“Negative, Phil,”
and we never played Jeopardy
or drinking buddies again.