I Want a New Kind of Kick

"The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good.". Michael Douglas as Gordon Gekko in Wall Street.

Leo Durocher was a Major League Baseball player and manager with a career spanning almost 50 years from 1925 to 1972. Elected posthumously to the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1994, he's remembered for his 1975 autobiography Nice Guys Finish Last. Durocher was friends with a Who's Who of renown personalities from mid 20th Century America such as Babe Ruth and Frank Sinatra, and spins yarn after yarn of his escapades in the book. Dished the dirt on his adversaries, too, which confirmed his nickname, Leo the Lip. Married four times, including a movie star and a socialite, Durocher was a pop culture icon before there was such a thing.

I had his baseball card when he managed the Cubs, but primarily remember him from guest appearances on 1960's sitcom reruns in the in the early 90's. Mister Ed, The Munsters, and The Beverly Hillbillies all had Durocher as guest star. He'd play himself, a baseball manager, pursuing cast members such as Jethro Bodine or Mister Ed or Herman Munster for the big leagues. What they used to call Bonus Babies. He usually bagged his quarry, too. They all got major league contracts except for Jethro. He was superseded by his cousin Elly May Clampett. She had the better fastball. The girl can't help it.

Leo the Lip was famous for saying, "Some guys are admired for coming to play...I prefer those who come to kill.". Dog-eat-dog. Sounds a lot like Ayn Rand, a major inspiration for the Tea Party crusade, as well as a guiding light for Silicon Valley. Steve Jobs. Travis Kalanick. Evan Spiegel. Jack Dorsey. Peter Thiel. Elon Musk. Many members of the PayPal Mafia. All influenced by Rand. Although she rejected Fascism as well as Socialism, Rand was only looking out for number one.

Lived in Center City my first year in Philly. You could hear the church bells chiming every hour. I seemed at peace with myself. Stopped drinking for five months, and this was a fresh start. Thirteenth and Pine Street, the third floor of a three story rowhouse with no elevator. Caddy-corner to Dirty Frank's Bar and a few blocks from the art college on Broad Street. They call it Antique Row because of all the antique shops, but there was a bakery, a pizzeria, small restaurants and a used book store. I liked it. There weren't many amenities to the apartment, but after all, it was 1985. Cable television wasn't widespread nationally, and would take another decade to be deployed in the neighborhood. Had a SONY Trinitron with rabbit ears, but still got lousy reception. As a result, I'd walk the streets because let's face it, you can only read so much.

Didn't work very often in those days. Didn't have to. My first three months in the city, I checked ID's in a bar/restaurant for happy hour in The Bourse located in the historic district. Right near the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. The Bourse is a converted stock exchange that's a food court now. Didn't really like the job, plus it was a comedown after three years in the advertising business in Manhattan. But I made friends. Two of them were roommates and lived down the street from me. They were writers and artists and had girlfriends. Told me to call. Just dial MARTIAN. The corresponding numbers to the letters on the keypad. 627-8426. I did and voilà, got the answering machine:

"Hello. This is the thought police. We know who you are. We know why you called. But get it off your chest. You'll feel better for it.".

Panama Red. Acapulco Gold. Gainesville Green. One toke over the line. That's all I wanted. That's what I couldn't have. Marlboros. Mezcal. Miller High Life. What were once habits were now vices. Always on my mind. I recently saw Atomic Blonde with Charlize Theron. It takes place in the mid 80's, and has a good soundtrack with songs such as "99 Luftballons". It seems as if everybody in the movie is smoking cigarettes and drinking chilled shots of Stolichnaya Vodka. That's the way it was back then, and I couldn't get in on the act.

For the better part of a year, I read, wrote a journal, and worked part-time as a banquet waiter and bartender. Society soirees for the local aristocrats. Got a bird's-eye view of how the other half lives. Wasn't entirely isolated. My roommate from Manhattan lived in Philadelphia, too. Just west of Broad on Spruce Street. He worked in New Jersey at Campbell's Soup, but was moving to to Michigan. Met a woman that lived in Society Hill Towers. They were getting hot and heavy, soon to be married. I was slowly starting to make friends, too. However, time was running out. I'd been accepted for the MBA program in finance at Fordham back in New York. Deferred admission for a year because of a lack of a career conviction, a new sense of sobriety, and it was expensive living in New York. I was in dire straights.

Bodhisattva, would you take me by the hand?