Friday, October 08, 2010
27. GOING TO PHILADELPHIA:
The swank room was situated just off of Rittenhouse and all of the people in the square seemed to be either looking up or otherwise preoccupied by the things around them as I walked past an alarming assortment of what went for society in those days : the panoply of operations the swaggards and bums and the high-life and riches of all consorting levels of people in place and the prime situation was that this was by all means November 1970 with a fierce cold wind blowing from somewhere and water in the air - smell taste and touch and rivers abounding - and the guy had said he would teach me to think and reason teach me to ponder and write and it was an open invitation of which I was now taking advantage as I entered his room (5th floor hardwood landing ring the bell be aware of surroundings watch the floor-level doorway as you enter let no one else in) and I realized it was more a vast library than merely a room and I couldn't figure this guy out for his station nor his situation neither of them gave forth any clues but having three-hundred year old family money and riches and fortune and fame often did things like this to people it put them aside it placed them out of the normal ken of reference and reason : so his gracious more than gracious offer was for me the pinnacle of achieving a something unknown - train ride entering the new city walking those patterned streets and the great civic center at City Hall perched central to square streets winding out and finding Walnut and Rittenhouse and all that yes yes the finest place I had ever been this mansion this townhouse this Civil War something that still held the powers and the echoes of all those heavy wealthy famous men of long ago and far before - I felt personally as if right then I was part of something far bigger than me far larger than ever I could entertain - fat red leather chairs heavy tables serious lamps and shelving enormous curtained windows all things I had never seen nor been accustomed to before and in each room and alcove I went it continued like that - valises of fine dark leather pitchers and urns foot-stools ottomans and writing tables an entire private sanctuary and inner-sanctum reflecting the magnanimous urges of someone's mind from whatever era that all came from old Philadelphia weird Philadelphia back from an America of shadowy inputs and undeveloped urges the same urges that later pushed the expansion to its limits created empire power and force and backed by some dark green force of money - which force I felt in every inch and section of this place : someone told me to sit down and wait and so I did all the while still looking around : there was a collection of swords and sabers and scabbards on the one long wall - all sizes and assortments of what appeared to be a quite collectible and sizable grouping of weaponry from some earlier era and I wasn't able precisely to make the connection why they would be here yet I figured in some way they represented a facile metaphor for the strength and directness of wisdom and knowledge or something - or they might just have been a collection of secreted weaponry taken as war booty (I remembered my uncle's similar small collection of purloined Japanese swords and rifles brought back from WWII and ingloriously displayed on his tiny den walls ever after) - while along the other was a long hardwood table covered with different sorts of liquor and booze and cordials snifters glasses and the rest which went with it - gentleman's club stuff for those stars of fame and riches who sit around sniftng (nothing I'd ever done) and the carpet was lush and in other places the bare woods along the sides and connecting areas to other rooms was deep and glossy and beautiful to be sure : no surprise there either : and I noticed this guy occasionally milling about - the same one who'd let me in and seated me - but he said nothing and just went about his work while a clock ticked another tolled and something rang and outside the curtained windows I could hear the occasional sounds of vehicles and people passing though whether stationary or not I could not tell - the ring of a phone the sound of a door the odd ping of some sort of bell and yet nowhere the trace of the person for whom I was waiting and nowhere either any scent of food or lunch or whatever (I had been hoping for something free to eat) and then - of a sudden moment - in came that fellow again but this time to escort me out ! saying there had been a 'problem' and Mr. Haywood (name changed to protect the dead) had taken ill and had been driven swiftly to Jefferson Hospital nearby and he was 'sorry' to have to tell me but I should please leave since there'd be no meeting today and when things turned around I'd be contacted somehow once more - as it turned out I spent six more days wandering Philadelphia until the papers (I noticed) a few days later announced the 'sudden death' of one Alexander Haywood bastion of the city grand collector worldwide philanthropist intellectual scholar writer researcher and one of the last remaining from the bastion of old-line Philadelphia families.
The swank room was situated just off of Rittenhouse and all of the people in the square seemed to be either looking up or otherwise preoccupied by the things around them as I walked past an alarming assortment of what went for society in those days : the panoply of operations the swaggards and bums and the high-life and riches of all consorting levels of people in place and the prime situation was that this was by all means November 1970 with a fierce cold wind blowing from somewhere and water in the air - smell taste and touch and rivers abounding - and the guy had said he would teach me to think and reason teach me to ponder and write and it was an open invitation of which I was now taking advantage as I entered his room (5th floor hardwood landing ring the bell be aware of surroundings watch the floor-level doorway as you enter let no one else in) and I realized it was more a vast library than merely a room and I couldn't figure this guy out for his station nor his situation neither of them gave forth any clues but having three-hundred year old family money and riches and fortune and fame often did things like this to people it put them aside it placed them out of the normal ken of reference and reason : so his gracious more than gracious offer was for me the pinnacle of achieving a something unknown - train ride entering the new city walking those patterned streets and the great civic center at City Hall perched central to square streets winding out and finding Walnut and Rittenhouse and all that yes yes the finest place I had ever been this mansion this townhouse this Civil War something that still held the powers and the echoes of all those heavy wealthy famous men of long ago and far before - I felt personally as if right then I was part of something far bigger than me far larger than ever I could entertain - fat red leather chairs heavy tables serious lamps and shelving enormous curtained windows all things I had never seen nor been accustomed to before and in each room and alcove I went it continued like that - valises of fine dark leather pitchers and urns foot-stools ottomans and writing tables an entire private sanctuary and inner-sanctum reflecting the magnanimous urges of someone's mind from whatever era that all came from old Philadelphia weird Philadelphia back from an America of shadowy inputs and undeveloped urges the same urges that later pushed the expansion to its limits created empire power and force and backed by some dark green force of money - which force I felt in every inch and section of this place : someone told me to sit down and wait and so I did all the while still looking around : there was a collection of swords and sabers and scabbards on the one long wall - all sizes and assortments of what appeared to be a quite collectible and sizable grouping of weaponry from some earlier era and I wasn't able precisely to make the connection why they would be here yet I figured in some way they represented a facile metaphor for the strength and directness of wisdom and knowledge or something - or they might just have been a collection of secreted weaponry taken as war booty (I remembered my uncle's similar small collection of purloined Japanese swords and rifles brought back from WWII and ingloriously displayed on his tiny den walls ever after) - while along the other was a long hardwood table covered with different sorts of liquor and booze and cordials snifters glasses and the rest which went with it - gentleman's club stuff for those stars of fame and riches who sit around sniftng (nothing I'd ever done) and the carpet was lush and in other places the bare woods along the sides and connecting areas to other rooms was deep and glossy and beautiful to be sure : no surprise there either : and I noticed this guy occasionally milling about - the same one who'd let me in and seated me - but he said nothing and just went about his work while a clock ticked another tolled and something rang and outside the curtained windows I could hear the occasional sounds of vehicles and people passing though whether stationary or not I could not tell - the ring of a phone the sound of a door the odd ping of some sort of bell and yet nowhere the trace of the person for whom I was waiting and nowhere either any scent of food or lunch or whatever (I had been hoping for something free to eat) and then - of a sudden moment - in came that fellow again but this time to escort me out ! saying there had been a 'problem' and Mr. Haywood (name changed to protect the dead) had taken ill and had been driven swiftly to Jefferson Hospital nearby and he was 'sorry' to have to tell me but I should please leave since there'd be no meeting today and when things turned around I'd be contacted somehow once more - as it turned out I spent six more days wandering Philadelphia until the papers (I noticed) a few days later announced the 'sudden death' of one Alexander Haywood bastion of the city grand collector worldwide philanthropist intellectual scholar writer researcher and one of the last remaining from the bastion of old-line Philadelphia families.
