A Season In Hell and A New Start

In the spring of ’75, I moved into my first apartment all to myself on West 11th Street between Waverly Place and West 4th Streets just west of 7th Ave and a couple blocks from my Dad’s. He found it for me. The rent was $140.00 a month. Previously I had lived with a roommate on Sullivan Street in the heart of Soho for more than a year. The roommate and I got along well enough but he was a little weird and would make too much noise if he had a woman friend over. At that time I had no steady girlfriend. My old friend Zoe, from Music & Art, hooked me up with a friend of her’s once but it didn’t last long. Then there was Avia. A friend from the old scene that I had a huge crush on. We finally got together after all those years and that too was short lived.

Around this time, I saw my first psychotherapist in Brooklyn but it began to go nowhere fast after I told her I wanted to make love to her. I simply stopped going though I probably shouldn’t have. The reason for going in the first place was because of the depression I found myself in after the break up with Rosy. She was going to college way upstate at Alfred University and when I went up to visit her I found her diary which I promptly read and discovered she had fallen for some other guy. Heartbroken I contemplated suicide. Even going so far as to buying a bottle of iodine that I would drink thinking this would do the job. I got a yogurt too and ended up eating that instead. Her Mom was consoling but I was a mess. It took me a long time to get over it.

My Mom and Dad had separated by now. She moved to Jane Street just around the corner from me. They remained friends despite all the years of turmoil and insanity that they had put us and themselves through. They should have separated early on and spared us but she couldn’t leave. Never one to be able to take care of herself much she had to stay for financial reasons I’m sure. Dad didn’t really want her to go either I guess. Speaking of finances, in order to do some of the things we were able to do as children and young teens such as us going to the very expensive Camp Winona in Denmark, Maine for a number of summers, this was all made possible by a trust fund that was set up for Tony, Candela and myself that afforded us these luxuries. My psychotherapy was paid for this way, as well as my living in Soho. The trust fund was handled by my uncle Paul Benaceraff and when I was to reach a certain age the moneys were to be split three ways among us. So my father never paid a dime for a lot of these things. The money was from my Mom’s father I believe if I’m not mistaken. This was fortunate for my Dad who worked hard at making a living through teaching classical guitar. We too were very lucky to have been able to experience some things that if not for the funds we never would have. I always felt as if I drifted from one extreme to another. Being surrounded by wealthier relatives will do that to you.

The test came up and I applied for acceptance into Cooper Union, again. I got in, just like before. This time it was for keeps. When I got there it was such a contrast from what I had experienced at the NYSS that it was breathtaking, as if everything were amplified and heightened to a high pitch of quality and excellence. The Cooper Union building alone was enough to let me know that I had moved on up to a whole new level, a whole new world of opportunity and challenges. One felt very fortunate indeed for getting into this College.