Marc Anthony Butcher

I bet, gentle readers, that few, if any, of you remember where you was June 23rd, 1994 at precisely 2:45 PM. I do: in a yellow cab at West 57th and 7th Ave. going to my hotel (Millennium, at 55 Church). In those pre-Uber times NY cabbies only had two subjects: the Mets and poetry. My guy Marc Anthony Butcher (according to his license card) was poetry. Halfway there, about West 14th, we bonded over Bukowski, Edna St. Vincent, Esenin, Dylan Thomas and Mayakovski. A few blocks further south, due to race, creed and general background, we started diverging. 

He to me: "Rhyme, optional at best"

Me to he: "Rhyme, nice to have"

He to me: "I am a published author"

Me to he: "I am neither either"

He to me: "Here's my book for you"

Me to he: "Here's ten bucks for you"

He pulled up and the doorman, George (his real name: Gică Sfetcu and he was the former goalie for Textila Buhuși), hastened with the door: "S-trăiți, dom Miki". I paid and tipped Mr. Butcher five bucks.

He to me: "Thanks brother, I have a cat called Mango and a dog called Tango"

Me to he: "Not at all, man. My mom was Chlöe and my sister was Zöe"

M.A. Butcher's books are still in print by YAMOO PUBLISHERS, Brooklyn  and his Spoken Word is available wherever you gets your podcasts. In 1999 his books were approved by New York City's Board of Education for use as a textbook for grades 6 to 12.

Rachel W.

I met Rachel W. on the green pastures of the University of Toronto. We had lunch and she told me that she is the daughter of Prof. Dr. Friedrich Otto Maria von Büchsenspanner. She was impressed that I knew who he was and that I've read his book "Über die Nichtsnützlichkeit". I knew Büchsenspanner returned to Bochum after his two years at the University of Hakata, Japan but what I did not know is that he had a lover there: Aoi, Rachel's mother. Once back in Germany, he never contacted her again and died not knowing that he had a daughter. Six years ago when Rachel went to visit, Aoi told her who her father was and gave her a large box with his papers and documents. Rachel, a natural polyglot like her dad and fluent in German realized quickly that Büchsenspanner prepared another book: "Über die Vollnützlichkeit". The box contained his research and a first draft and so Rachel decided to complete her father's work. Once contacted, Samen und Sauer Verlag GmbH, Göttingen, publisher of the first book said they were very interested.

For the record: Büchsenspanner's book that caused scandal and sensation in academic circles, describes, details and demonstrates the futility of making people acknowledge, understand, accept and act on ideas different from their own. Apparently his next book describes the step by step process to persuade people to get, acknowledge, understand, welcome, accept and act on ideas different from their own beliefs, convictions, doctrines, opinions and perceptions.

The so determined  look on Rachel's face made me think she may just succeed. I wished her luck and asked her to send me a signed copy.

Lambchop Gitta Stick

I met Gitta in the Wallace-Emmerson park, she had a bunch of seedlings in her hand and a quiet, serene air on her face. 

When she was a little girl (she showed me a picture) they called her Lambchop - she was that sweet. Later, in high school she thought, she became fierce. Recently a passer-by  commented on the shape and size of her hips. Gitta picked up a stick and poked him in the left eye. Her Worship Suzanna Clarkson-Bolz, of the Ontario Court of Justice, in light of first offence and all that, gave her a stern warning and asked her to plant 108 urban pine trees.

She does have spectacular hips (Gitta, not Her Worship)

Twenty-Seven

Many years ago I had a lover. It was an older woman. She was almost twenty-seven. Quite a while later I had another lover. It was a younger woman. She was barely twenty-seven. Our math teacher at Hochwerdershausen Junior High was Frau Zwerg and she was twenty-seven. We learned the the basics of arithmetic. I forgot all my lovers, but I never forget Frau Zwerg, she said that three times seven is twenty-seven! 

Dolores Galina Brown

This is Dolores G. Brown (Doll to friends), as I met her at "The Duke of Earl" on Bay at Elm. She told me about her latest project, to write the definitive book on "Why Bad Things Happen to Good People?". I said that correct grammar is "Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?" and we seemed to have hit it off ... but let me tell you he origin of this idea. Doll is vegetarian, jogs and goes to the gym five times a week, buys her clothes from "Salvation Army counters", volunteers for the "Rosedale Food-bank", cooks for the "People's Kitchen", flosses after every meal and donates to the Humane Society and World Refugee Fund. Earlier today Doll was hurrying to court where she was to appear as defendant for a minor misunderstanding: she caused the slightest bump and most minuscule scrape when she hit the patrol car that chased her three blocks and managed to box her in after she ran a red-light. She was prepared to mount a vigorous defense. Suddenly Doll saw a person in distress and in obvious need of assistance to cross the road, so she hastened to assist. Once they've crossed the road she bought them coffee and doughnuts and listened to their story, at the end she left them her mobile number and said to call anytime if any need arises. This all took about thirty-five minutes, the bulk of the forty-five minutes she was late for court, where she was informed that she was sentenced in absentia and documents will be mailed to her address of record. She managed to say that she was ready to mount a vigorous defense. Doll went to "The Duke of Earl" for a few pints and shots of Tequila (which always provided her with great ideas). After she told me her story, Doll said she's certain that publishers, once they've read the manuscript, will line up and fight for her book but, as she wanted editorial independence, she thought of self-publishing. It would cost about twenty-four thousand of which she had almost half ($9,800) and would I be willing to invest the balance for a thirty-three percent share of profits? I replied  that I got to run as I just remembered that I've started the dishwasher which is now running unsupervised. I left my mobile number and said to call anytime if any need arises.

Eberhard Dolch

This is Eberhard (Ebb) Dolch, retired optometrist from Indianapolis, as I met him a while ago, wearing his leather jacket and hat with the insignias of the 23rd Division "Americal", a proud Vietnam veteran (his full unit designation: 11th Infantry brigade, 4th battalion, 1st infantry). We sat, he had club-soda, slice of lime and I had Jack and Coke and Ebb told me his story. He was drafted in May 1967, went to Ft. Bliss, TX for basic training and deployed later that year to the 23rd in 'Nam. I asked if he knew anybody in the 3rd Infantry Regiment who was ”involved”. He became very defensive and said: ”what a shame that my buddies were smeared by those ”peaceniks”, good that justice prevailed and all unbased charges were dropped. Even when they got Lt. Calley as scapegoat and sentenced him to life, Nixon let him go”. Ebb was much happier to talk about the GI Bill and how he went to Ilium College in Eastern New York to study optometry. His family was originally from Dresden and Billy Pilgrim, professor at the college, had spent time in that city and knew it well. Ebb asked him if he knew Metzger Strasse 5, the location of the original Dolch Butcher Shop, but Billy was stuck. He later became unstuck in time, so it goes.

Hannah Caro (Diamond)

This is Hannah whoruns the "Das Caro", a pub on Caroline-Michaelis-Straße.

You cannot meet a sweeter kid: clever, hardworking and talented: just a beautiful person. We had beers and she told me her story. One night, after she threw out the last stragglers and locked the pub she started towards home and, as it was a warm evening, she decided to walk. Her playlist going, she heard behind her a strange loud noise, like a series of bangs and scrapes. When she turned, she saw a huge dark shape or shadow. She thought it looked a little like a dragon and when it started rising, she realized that it was indeed a dragon in aggressive stance: glowing eyes, large mouth full of teeth and scales all over down to the fishtail. Hannah is not intimidated easily, she shouted: "Get lost Fafnir!!!" and took out her can of trusted Ballistol Pepper Spray upon which the silly dragon instantly dissolved into nothingness. The number 12 street car direction Pasadagplatz was just slowing to stop so Hannah ran for it. Once aboard, breathless from the effort she showed the driver her pass and sank on a seat in the empty car. Rely on Berliner drivers to be funny: "Rennst wie du 'nen Drachen jesehen hast." Still panting Hannah replied: "Denkste?"