i was more than happy to oblige my friends, allowing my zeal for honesty and transparency to lead the way forward.

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dear members of the board,

i am writing to express my unconditional support for roxanne denali-sampson and gabriel blomqvist regarding their prospective purchase of an apartment in your building.

for three years now, it has been a pleasure to call roxanne and gabriel my dear friends, during which time my wife and i have travelled with them on numerous occasions.

blessed with a remarkable curiosity and creative spirit, i am reminded on an almost daily basis of how lucky i am to have them not only as friends, but also as mentors and role models.

both roxanne and gabriel have impeccable taste, as evidenced by their outstanding collection of found objects that occupy virtually every inch of surface space in their home. no matter which way one looks, there’s always a visual indulgence that’s waiting to be discovered. there’s a stack of match books by the front door that reaches from the floor to the ceiling; while there’s also an immense sculpture made of plastic cafeteria forks. one of the lampshades has been fashioned out of previously-owned cling film food wrap. i love their collection of tall boy beer cans almost as much as i adore their collection of blue new york times newspaper bags.

yet it is gabriel who is truly the more entrepreneurial of the two. never one to turn down an opportunity to revive or repurpose those seemingly hopeless pieces of furniture that gabriel routinely picks up from the streets of the east village, he hauls them into their home, so that they can be lovingly restored. it is true that some of these revived objects are sold, often for a token amount, but gabriel so frequently falls in love with the results of his work that he and roxanne more often elect to keep their restoration projects, adding even more charm and distinction to their already unique home.

one example that springs to mind is the once-tattered couch that was rescued in freemans alley from a pack of stray dogs that were using it as their bed. i don’t know how long that couch was in that dank and forlorn alley, but let’s just say that it harboured a certain musky aroma that is truly difficult to describe, which suggests that the couch had been there for eons. now, months later, it looks almost as good as new, and it hardly ever smells of dog urine.

i should point out that this very couch has become our seat of honor whenever we visit them. we’ve become quite attached to it.

i’ve seen gabriel enthusiastically discover abandoned mattresses, and, bedbugs be damned, i’ve found several occasions to lend him a hand to bring them back to their apartment. at one point, they had so many mattresses in need of their tender loving care that they were compelled to temporarily stack them in the hallway outside their door – but gabriel worked night and day to painstakingly bring them back to life – and some six weeks later, he was finally done. he gave several of the mattresses away to his friends.

while gabriel’s generosity never fails to impress, it is roxanne’s creative spirit that sets her apart.

an avid fan of rhythmic music, we are frequently invited to participate in their elaborately choreographed drum circles that are hosted twice-weekly by roxanne. sometimes, we’ll play until four in the morning! i feel like i learn so much during these drumming sessions, as roxanne encourages all of her friends to really express themselves. sometimes, she leads by example through her use of unconventional objects to strike the drum. i recall an episode where, in a fit of creative genius, she suddenly grabbed the flower vase from the top of the bookshelf and smashed it over the conga, adding quite a yell for extra emphasis. i’ve ever heard such a tremendous sound. it was truly inspiring.

the source of her creativity is a subject that i’ve often speculated over, and i have concluded that it must have something to do with her being québécoise.

her creative energy extends to the kitchen. she really enjoys making home-made kombucha for themselves and all of their house guests, and so, whenever one enters the kitchen, the first thing one takes notice of are all of the oversized vats which contain what looks like liquid compost in various stages of fermentation. the yeasts and assorted bacteria that are cultivated in the vats generate quite a staunch aroma, but it really does add to the experience, and i wouldn’t want it any other way.

since roxanne and gabriel are so fond of collecting things, including friends (some of whom are such frequent guests that they should practically be paying rent, but roxie and gabes would never dream of asking them to do that), it should come as no surprise than they enjoy sharing their home with a wide variety of rescue animals. normally, they prefer to limit their merry coterie of critters to four or five dogs and no more than six or seven cats. they’ve also hosted a raccoon, a semi-paralyzed skunk, and three black squirrels (which gabriel encountered in nearby tompkins square park). as for the cats and dogs, sometimes, there are more, but this has a way of self-correcting as some of the animals simply wander off, never to be seen again. their loss! the animals, i mean, because who would want to leave a home that is so fantastic as theirs?

as there is such an abundance of adorable furry little friends which bring so much joy to their home, it is not unusual for some of them to partake in the drum circle. not only do some of the dogs enjoy a robust wail along with the humans who are doing their own drumming and shouting, but there was once a time when roxanne and gabriel babysat a proboscis monkey who brought the evening session to a stirring climax through his persistent shrieking and plant thrashing. yes, the proboscis monkey grabbed their ficus tree and used it as an improvised drumstick, employing the walls of the apartment as the drum’s surface!! i was amazed that the monkey was given the creative freedom to express himself like that, but that just shows you how remarkable roxanne and gabriel really are.

i can only offer them the very highest recommendation possible, and hope that the members of the co-op board will find them as delightful and resourceful as we do. perhaps you’ll have an opportunity to sample their kombucha. it’s simply delicious!

sincerely,

chance bliss

Driven down from The Heights and cast out from a community of academics, over-achievers and esteemed members of the creative class, the people who would later become known as the People of The Willows sought refuge on the rocky western slope that faced The River.

A resilient ad hoc tribe of recyclers, tinkerers, bricklayers, petty thieves, banjo players and dock workers, the people of The Willows immediately took up the task of community building.

Though the slope’s inhospitable terrain offered little encouragement for the establishment of suitable habitation, the land proved itself to be surprisingly malleable.

The newly arrived refugees cleared brush and gathered stones to create the slightly uneven streets that we see today. They forged homes from a wide variety of architectural philosophies and planted community gardens on rooftops and in alleys, cultivating crops of succotash, brussel sprouts, sugar beets, cress and yellow carrots, while also making room for small patches of undomesticated grasses from which to feed the seventeen goats, some of whom occasionally roam The Willows’ narrow streets.

Within a short period of time, the first general store appeared, followed by a bicycle repair shop and a seltzer water dispensary (which doubled as a package delivery service). Not long afterwards, the first cast iron streetlamps were installed.

With a natural disregard for authority, The Willows has neither a school nor a police precinct. Instead, children are either home-schooled or left to their own devices, while low-level “criminal” activity is often overlooked, unless the people of The Willows deem a grievance too grotesque to accept, in which case they will police themselves.

Though the people of The Willows are loosely organized and non-hierarchal in structure, there are many characters who distinguish themselves from the others.

Amongst them:

JEBEDIAH: a bearded man with thick glasses, whose gait suggests a perpetual discomfort with his seemingly ill-fitted boxer shorts, he has made it his routine to check in on his fellow Willow people as he monitors the progress of the emerging village. Much of his day is spent visiting shops and gathering places along the two streets that make up the heart of The Willows. Though he has no dwelling to call his own, he is always welcome in the other homes of the community, and so Jebediah never lacks a place to sleep.

DESDEMONA: regardless of the weather, she is never observed without her high-collared coat, of which she has many, thus no one alive has ever set eyes upon her neck and collarbone. Her hair is kept short, with a feathery tuft of grey in front, and she favors leather work boots. She provides legal services for the people of The Willows, using most of her working hours to petition the regional chamber of commerce, as well as the city government, to recognize the legitimacy of the property claims coming from The Willows, while also promoting the cultural legacy that is currently being fostered in The Willows. On most afternoons during her lunch repast, she can be seen working on the exterior upkeep of her house on Willow Place.

DORIS: it is her life’s ambition to document, preserve, promote and perpetuate the beauty of the willow trees that give her people their namesake. Especially enamored of the willow branch in springtime, during its tantalizingly short interlude before the pods unveil their April bloom, she creates vast works of art based on them, including oversized daguerreotypes, acid etchings and intentionally crude lithographs. Easily recognized by her proclivity towards woolen shawls and jeans, she is often found by the stand of willow trees near the formerly unimpeded Furman Street – the last group of virgin willows in the county.

SIMEON: a former fireman (well, it should be noted that he was admitted to the Brooklyn Heights Fire Department’s Training Program but failed to appear for three out of the first five sessions and was thus summarily dismissed), he now works at The Willows Social Services office, advising residents about the finer details of passport applications, out of state driver’s license tests, and correspondence school programs. Always dressed in a denim camouflage jacket and a ski hat, when he is not holding court at his place of business, Simeon regularly finds himself at the end of the bar at the Weeping Willow Public House, where from he enjoys extolling the virtues of home slaughtering – that is, the slaughtering of livestock for human consumption performed in the privacy of one’s own home.

JENNY: were one to stroll through the district of The Willows, one would never “see” Jenny, yet her presence is everywhere. Many of the woolen hats, shawls, scarves, gloves, leg warmers, blankets and small rugs are made by Jenny – proudly articulating her enthusiasm for colors such as turquoise and violet – thus helping to cement the nickname that outsiders have bestowed upon The People of The Willows: the “Purple Pirates.”

The casual observer might note that well over half of all of the knitted winter hats on display on the streets of The Willows are made by Jenny’s hand. Furthermore, during the more frigid months, the goats are often seen wearing warming jackets, also made by Jenny.

To say that all of these objects are hand-made is perhaps misleading, because Jenny actually produces many of her works through the help of an enormous loom, which occupies almost all of her living room.

Excruciatingly agoraphobic, Jenny pins her finished works on a clothes line, which she lowers to street level through an elaborate series of mechanical pulleys and levers, which then enables her fellow residents to more easily preview and select an item. When a resident chooses one, he or she replaces the item with an envelope that contains coins and bills. Customers decide for themselves how much they will pay, though if Jenny determines that they’ve offered too little, the undervalued item has a mysterious habit of disappearing from its new owner – frequently within a few days of the initial transaction. In its place, one would find a handwritten note, which states very simply: “not enough.” Once restitution has been made, the item is returned, often under the cloak of night.

RICARDO: a Norwegian transplant christened with the name of Ole Rikard, Ricardo arrived in The Willows after a stormy life at sea. It is rumored that he has fathered fourteen children, for on a few occasions, a child of mixed ethnicity who bears a striking resemblance to the wide-eyed, blonde-topped Ricardo, will be seen surveying the streets, as if looking for a lost keepsake. Should Ricardo catch sight of such an inquisitor, he will hurriedly duck into the Weeping Willow Public House or the Last Journey Café – depending on which end of the street he finds himself.

Though forever intermittently employed and always just short of cash, Ricardo is nonetheless a popular figure amongst the People of The Willows. He wows locals with his feats of strength, often challenging outsiders to arm-wrestling matches and staring contests. To this day, he remains undefeated.

It has been said that Desdemona once openly speculated what might happen should Ricardo ever face a challenge from one of the children he has cast-off, in the event that they ever return to The Willows as adults. A topic such as this provides ample fodder for late afternoon conversations when Ricardo is beyond earshot.

GEORGINA is often found seated on the front steps of an unoccupied corner shop, which since her arrival, has been re-dubbed as “Georgina’s.” She rarely moves from this spot, entertaining guests and passers-by with her impressively broad tastes in danceable music, which she shares by virtue of a portable music machine that has been connected to a set of amplifiers. On occasion, Georgina will take out a battered steel-plated slack guitar and strum along.

Though she is well read and tells tales from the far corners of the globe, no one in The Willows can recall a time when Georgina was ever absent from her stoop for more than half a day.

A lover of homemade chocolates, she typically offers one of these hand-crafted morsels to anyone willing to bring her a cup of her favorite triple-roasted Yemenite coffee from the Iris Café located on the middle of the block.

Georgina’s celebrity was greatly enhanced when it was discovered that she is one of the few residents who has ever stepped foot inside of Jenny’s lair. She has personally testified to the enormity of Jenny’s loom and, when dark sentiments get the better of the locals, is rumored to be one of Jenny’s henchmen. However, when the late winter sunshine casts its golden glow upon Georgina’s cherubic cheekbones, it is hard to conceive of her as anything else but a bon vivant, albeit a lazy one at that.

BENJAMIN: In truth, Benjamin has no business being amongst the People of The Willows, for he is over-qualified and earns far too great an income, yet he counts himself as one of them. A writer and cultural critic by trade, he spends almost all of his daylight hours locked away in the back room of his dimly lit railroad flat, keeping exclusive company with a quartet of exceptionally well-behaved cats. In the early evening hours, he will make his presence known at the Weeping Willow Public House, seated at a booth with a gin martini while reading through theater reviews from foreign newspapers.

On most evenings, he will travel to The Island to preview gallery installations in advance of their formal opening. He’ll then make a second appearance at the Public House back in The Willows, where, with the assistance of two glasses of Sazerac, he’ll fulfill his socializing needs before retiring to his apartment and four cats.

… TO BE CONTINUED

put together by The Willows Preservation Society and written by Christian Svanes Kolding

1982

when the cauliflower-haired fifteen year old man-child who went by the name of bobby hale lost control of his temper, his face, already burdened with the cumbersome folds of early teenage obesity, transformed from its natural shade of seashell white to an uncomfortably deep rhubarb red and his voice, troubled as it was by the vulgar strains of puberty, could find no better outlet of self-expression than to produce primal grunts that were often laced with schoolyard profanity.

so begins the first draft of the first paragraph of a new story about a neighborhood at war with each other…. more will  be posted. things will be edited.