by Christopher Alan Sweeney

Created on: August 09, 2009   Last Updated: November 11, 2009

HOW CHRIS AND I FIRST MET

It was late April 1973 and still cool but warm enough for a sports jacket and slacks. I'd checked all my construction jobs between 7:30 and around noon and had just bought a container of coffee and was settling into my desk to check messages when the phone rang. It was Maurice. "Uh boss" he said. "They just pulled the container and rolled off a new one and we had a little accident".

"How little" I asked.

"Uh-It rolled over this chick's motorcycle. I think you better come look. She's really pissed."

It was less than two crosstown blocks and one downtown block so I figured I'd walk thinking she'd have some time to cool off before I got there.

There was no other way to describe him: Maurice was a character-a real character. He was a dozen years older than me and four or five inches shorter than my six feet one. He was well set up-very strong-good looking in a street tough way and he was way smart. Numbers he could do in his head like a computer. A degenerate gambler he could beat the tote machine at the racetrack to calculating the odds on a race. He spoke like a wise guy and was mob connected. Yet he managed the equipment and set up the stage for a then famous band-Jay and the Americans. That was the one pre-condition when he came to work for me. When Jay had a gig he had to quit early to be with the band.

Maurice was standing on the sidewalk on the east side of Park Avenue in front of a pharmacy that had a sign in the window that said: PLOTKIN'S PHARMACY. I walked to the corner and followed him around to the 91st street side. There was the container and behind it lay a Kawasaki 250 with a crumpled rim and assorted other damage. The crew had extricated it by levering the container forward with plank. I turned to Maurice and said "Oh well we have insurance".

Just then she appeared. She was a kid-one incredibly beautiful kid I had to admit and she was mad as a hornet. She started screaming about how stupid we were and how we were going to pay not only for the bike but all the inconvenience it was going to cause her and I didn't think she'd ever stop. But she never used a foul word or any expletive you'd have to delete. You could tell she wasn't a New Yorker. She had to be from upstate or somewhere in the Midwest. The first thing you saw was all that blonde hair. It was long more than halfway down her back and full and rich and gloriously beautiful. Then when she shut up and stopped frowning you saw the pert little nose that was just perfect.

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