Walking the Streets

No, gentle reader, your scribe is not turning into a streetwalker in the colloquial sense, but rather continues to stroll the thoroughfares of Greenwich in the manner of a 19th-century boulevardier (minus the top hat, of course).

Today's trolling - er, strolling - yielded the ever-affable Neil Bouknight, who reported on his and Joanne's recent visit to Bob Tate, the erstwhile Kapellmeister of Greenwich. Apparently Bob gets so much mail from his friends in Greenwich that his warders have decided he must be some sort of celebrity. Well, yes: he has taught the joys of music to hundreds if not thousands of children in Greenwich, some of whom have gone on to perform on the stages of the Metropolitan and City Operas. And let's not forget all the adults he has involved in music programs as well. If your scribe had to nominate someone as the MVP (Most Valuable Person) of Greenwich over the past 36 years, Bob Tate's name would lead all the rest. And I think he would be elected in a landslide.

All of which seems to matter not to the feds, who have decided that Bob is a menace to society. He is being held, without bail, in solitary confinement. Meanwhile, murderers and robbers and swindlers of every variety make Greenwich the preferred venue for their crimes, knowing that the local Keystone Kops, aka the Greenwich Gestapo, will never lay a hand on them. In fact, offer them a few bucks, and they will even stand guard over your illegal boiler-shop operation, as they did not long ago for Marvin Frankel.

Speaking of the GG, the ineffable chief thereof, James Walters, aka Jimmy Wawa, aka the most despised and hated police chief in Greenwich history (and that's saying a lot, considering the calibre of some of his precedessors, like Peter "Perjuring Petey" Robbins) had the effrontery to greet me as I crossed the street this morning. For once, there was a policeman near at hand, directing traffic, and I immediately asked him to arrest Wawa for his unseemly behavior. The cop thought I was joking. I was not.

But back to our street-walking theme: I am reminded of the incident a few years ago when a member of the GG was arrested and actually forced to resign for patronizing one of the "massage parlors" that occasionally can be found here in town. Actually, I have little doubt that one or more of them are operating even as I write; every few years there's a crackdown, followed by a lull, followed by a resumption of activity, often at the same location. It's hard to believe that the GG are unaware of this, especially when it appears that some of them constitute part of the patron list. BTW, I believe the one who was arrested had overstepped the limits and become a little too physical with one of the "hostesses"; she apparently was not into his brand of sado-masochism. So I think he was charged with A&B, not with being a john. After all, even a Greenwich fille de joie has a right to ply her trade without being beaten up.

OK, where does one take it from here? A riff how how the world's oldest profession is a not inapt metaphor for much of what goes on in this town? A rant on the unequal application of justice in these parts? Another comedy spiel on the incompetence of the GG?

So many themes, so little time. If you, dear reader, have lived in this town for any length of time at all, you will be able to provide your own riffs and rants and spiels. So maybe that's a good place to leave things: your assignment, gentle reader, is to finish this essay with a paragraph or two from your own experiences of life here in Disneyland East. And unless you are brain-dead (which I am sure none of the esteemed readers of this blog are), I am confident you will have a few choice tidbits to add to those of your scribe. Happy writing!