The early August thunderstorm was over. Following several days of record breaking heat in upstate New York a sigh of relief had been let out. Driving on Route 32 North towards New Paltz the leftover water was spraying on my car causing me to use my windshield wipers for the first time in over a month. It has been said many times within the writing community that a good story is never hunted, more likely, the tale simply finds you. My goal was to stay true to that ideology as I spontaneously decided to take a lazy Sunday afternoon drive. A pure old fashioned adventure, neither thought out or contrived, just a melancholy ride on a summer Sunday. My initial motivation was drawn from a “left out” longing. I had already missed all the excitement of the big reunion weekend for the alumni of New Paltz High School (Classes of the 1970’s, 80’s, and 90’s). Adding to my blues was the fact that I had committed to a couple of friends to attend the Friday night pub crawl, but a nagging case of the fifth variant of Covid 19 caused a change in my plans. By Sunday afternoon I couldn’t resist taking the 20 minute journey back into the town I grew up in for a view of the aftermath of the storm that had passed. And just maybe something, or somebody might bump into to me along the way.
On my right I saw ‘Little Explorers’, a pre school now where ‘The Pilgrimage’, ‘Speakers’, ‘Dallas’, and ‘Legends’ once stood. At that moment my mind went from a joy ride to a more calculating scheme. The first step was to park in the downtown lot adjacent to the Wells Fargo Bank, close to a west end escape route out of the village of New Paltz. It was a routine spot for me to leave my vehicle during the 1970’s in a feeble attempt to be cautious while drinking and driving home across ‘the flats’ (that’s the way it was back then, most of us were uneducated and careless in regard to drinking and driving). Starting on the south side of Main Street my intent was to walk up a one block area, and back down the north side, casually searching for any remnants from the weekend reunion bash. I imagined that it was the first time I was walking both sides of Main Street in 40 years in order to visualize the changes and the remains. The restaurant ‘a’tavlo’ on the northwest portion of Main Street had always been ‘North Light’ to me. In the seventies and the eighties there was not an evening I can recall when two crafty “pros” were not on opposite sides of the bar. Jamie Phelan, the epitome of a barkeep, was a legendary fixture behind the rail. On the other side you could always get into a friendly conversation with golf professional Larry Furey as he nursed a small draft, or a bottle of Michelob.
Next to the ‘North Light’ (‘New Paltz Tavern’), on the corner, a place called “Dancing Hands” was peddling jewelry at the prior long tenured ‘David’s Cookies’. The famed confectionary joint came to the village in the the late 70’s. When I first notice ‘David’s’ arrival in town I bet Todd Krieg 100 bucks that there wasn’t enough interest in cookies by Paltzonians that David and his cupcakes would be gone by the turn of the decade (1980). About six years ago when I attended Todd’s daughter’s wedding ‘David’s Cookies’ was still standing. It is possibly the only debt in my life that has gone unpaid (Maybe one or two more who I hope don’t read this).
“Best Pizza” read the flashing illumination on the the corner once occupied by the ‘Thesis’ and ‘Chez Joey’s’. My deep rooted skepticism when comparing any pizza to ‘Chez Joeys’s’, over my lifetime, was validated after consuming a slice of “Best Pizza.” In full disclosure my plain slice was average at best, and reminded me nothing of those early morning pieces of greasy cheese on top of a crispy thin crust prepared by the hands of Jerry Nuzzo and his sister Marie.
Upward I climbed past what at one point was Bobby Bright’s running shoe store (I tried, but the name still isn’t coming to me). Bobby passed a few years ago at far too young an age. Besides being a top notched competitive runner he also tended bar at ‘McGuinns’ and went on to be the founder of, the still alive, “Kingston Classic”. Leaving Bobby behind, like I never could on our occasional evening runs we would take before work, I looked left into a narrow alleyway. I could see basketball teammates Jim Barry, Dave Tucker, Dennis Rivera and Todd Krieg walking arm and arm heading into Hannibal’s (later ‘Coochies’ and ‘Cabaloosas’) on a cold victorious late December night. “Tattoo’s” read the flashing neon sign on a more dramatic scale than “Best Pizza”. Out of the cove and back on the sidewalk, still tattooless, I recognized the gentleman walking towards me. He had no idea who I was, but I was confident I was seeing a ghost from New Paltz past. Inexplicably, the middle aged man posed a spitting image of a 20 something young man who I recalled tearing up the dance floor, moving and grooving, to the blues auditory of “The Eddie Kirkland Band”. “Ron Fields?” I said in disbelief as he halted in his tracks. “Still kicking up the rug 45 years later?” I asked. A big smile crossed his face, “Yes sir, currently I’m taking ‘Swing’ lessons.”
Already at the next corner I circled around ‘Bank of New York’ onto the opposite side of the street. Pete Savago’s Insurance Agency served as a perfect place to leave your car for the late night, early morning, partier before local authorities started making the locale their own check point hangout. Faintly, I could hear music coming from ‘Zach’s’ (favorite local gathering spot in the late 70’s). It was Meat Loaf rounding third and heading for home. “I got to know right now…. do you love me….will you love me forever.” It was my cue to go downward to my transport home. The corner was still in tact on adjacent sides with two of New Paltz’s most famed landmarks. Both Elting Library along with ‘Pat and Georges’, although having noticeable makeovers, still stood as the cornerstones of the village. ‘Pigs’ appeared quiet even for Sunday summer afternoon. There was an expanded area showcasing an extended picture window. On this serene midday ‘Pat’s’ was still reverberating from Friday night’s Happy Hour pre-game party, and all the past Friday’s happy hours over all the decades. Almost passed the newly added window panes I took a peak into the past while in stride. The first ballot Hall of Fame mixologist (Marcus C.) looked up from behind the bar. He was working at ‘P&G’s’ in 1978 when I ordered my first “happy hour” pitcher of Pabst Blue Ribbon, which cost only a dollar and didn’t require a glass. We exchanged a cautious wave that mutually said, “wow, you’re the last person I expected to see today.”
I had a split second idea of going inside but that disappeared once coming upon two commercial signs, one read ‘Manny’s’, and the other ‘Jack’s Meats’. These two establishments were mainstays of the New Paltz community dating all the way back to my childhood. Next up, on the way down, a business called ‘Cocoon’ was where St. Blaise (Diggers) had stood. Bobby Gorsoline’s tavern was a favorite “go to” late night “sleeper” stop. Back in the day I witnessed numerous celebrated knock down fights. (Two former classmates had a real beauty one night). The fisticuffs blended with great music often spilled onto the streets from ‘The Blaise’ right in front of my blue eyes. Just past Diggers/Blaise the ‘Gay Ninety’s’ was now ‘The Main Street Bistro.’ Finally, in front of me I gazed at a crowd of patio sitters on the outside deck of the famed ‘Homestead’ (‘McGuinn’s’), today eating sushi, at a place called Lola’s. Walking to my car I shot a glance to the left considering checking out the place I had my first cocktail (Sloe Gin Fizz) in a bar that still bore the name “Bacchus”. ‘Heck, that was enough memories for today,’ I whispered to no one as I continued on my bee line to the lower bank parking lot.
Sometimes there is no intent in uncovering a story, it just bumps into you. It took a couple of days for me to contemplate that it had been 44 years since I collected by diploma from New Paltz High. As all those years have passed I have become more and more aware of how fortunate we all were to have come of age in such a diverse, cultural, and tight knit village. I reflected on all the alumni who had gone so far away, yet still yearned to return like many had this past weekend. I had missed the reunion party, but as New Paltz goes you can always go back. My hometown, where everything changes, where most things remain the same.
