Tuesday, May 3, 1988
10 PM. This morning’s mail brought a notice from the AAA that said I had used up all my emergency calls for road service and that I would be charged for future ones.
Well, I thought, I have two days to go down here, and I’m certainly not going to have to call AAA again.
Wrong. I got a blowout on the Turnpike Extension this evening just as I was 
Incredible, no? It’s as though all my car karma has come to haunt me in the last two weeks.
After tomorrow – and I hope I can get to and from Coral Gables without a disaster – I don’t want to drive a car again for the rest of 1988. Hopefully, I won’t have to.
I had just gotten on the turnpike and paid the toll on Bird Road; for some 
I was closing my window when all of a sudden the tire’s edge came off like a peeled apple skin, though it took me a while to figure out that’s what had happened.
Rather than disbelieving yet another car problem, I took it almost as a matter of course, pulled the car over and walked back to the toll booth to call the AAA and my parents, who found it incredible that I could get stuck again within such a short period of time.
I waited an hour for the AAA tow truck to arrive. And the guy didn’t change my 
The tow truck followed behind me, but at the shopping center by Flagler Avenue, I found the tire store closed.
Then I noticed mechanics at a service station there, so I went over to them, and in my pathetic Spanish – everyone in Sweetwater is Nicaraguan or maybe Cuban – I asked them to change my tire.
(“¿Por qué no habla español?” one asked, and I shrugged and said, “Yo estudio español en escuela en Nueva York por cuatro años pero no . . . remember.”
“Recuerdo,” said the teenage boy next to me.)
Even though on the News at Noon on WWOR/Channel 9, weatherman Lloyd Lindsay Young said it was only 50° at Newark Airport, I never felt so ready to be back in New York. Besides, Lloyd said it should warm up by this weekend.
Essentially, I’ve had a full-time college teaching job these last few months, teaching from nine to fifteen hours a week. That’s not to mention the horrible stress of my commutes.
If I return to do more Teacher Education Center workshops for FIU, I need a reliable car – and I’m not going to waste any more money on my Camaro. Mom 
At least my last class went well: I taught VisiCalc and introduced them to spreadsheets on Appleworks.
Several people told me I was a good teacher: patient, not afraid to let the students follow their own interests, and always on hand to answer the most basic questions.
Driving to Riviera Junior High earlier, not knowing what trouble I’d have on my trip home, I mused about my computer ed workshops and how I’ve enjoyed them and how I’ve gained experience and knowledge running around to various public schools all over Miami.
Actually, this proved to be an interesting year because I also taught English – composition, literature and creative writing – back at BCC.
Despite all my problems, I feel I’ve honed my teaching skills on this stay in Florida.
Wednesday, May 4, 1988
8 PM. I have a bad headache and a slight case of diarrhea, but I’m all ready to fly to New York City tomorrow. My flight leaves around noon, and if it’s on time, it’s 
Naturally, I’m nervous about the flight itself, though I’m sure the anxiety I’ll have on the plane can’t be all that much worse than the anxiety attack I had in Coral Gables on Monday or any of the hundreds of anxiety attacks I’ve survived.
No, I didn’t get stuck with the car today. Dad bought a new tire this morning 
Before I left for Dade County, I stopped at BCC, picked up my paycheck and gave Seren my key to the English Department office and a self-addressed envelope for my final paycheck.
After saying hi to Mick and to Phyllis, who’s again taking a group of students to Cambridge this summer, I drove into downtown Miami and parked at the Omni.
Feeling relatively calm, I drove down Biscayne Boulevard through the heart of downtown and out across Coral Way into the Gables.
One of my teacher-students brought brownies for our final class, and we met in 
I completed the paperwork even before the session ended, and one of my group put the envelope in the inter-school mailbox for me.
Coral Gables Senior High School was the best school I’ve taught at. Its student body is largely middle and upper-middle class with lots of well-dressed, 
Perhaps it unnerved me because it’s the closest place to Midwood High School that I’ve ever worked in.
I find it impossible to believe that it’s twenty years since I graduated from Midwood and that I’m old enough to be the parent of one of today’s high school students. I can’t believe Sean was 17 and a high school senior when I knew him six Mays ago.
The answer to these questions certainly won’t come tomorrow.
Today’s theme, class, has been the passage of time: what’s behind us, what’s ahead of us. . .
Thursday, May 5, 1988
5 PM on 5/5/88. I’m in Teresa’s bedroom, lying on her new bed.
Last night I had a bad sinus headache, and it took me till 4 AM to get to bed. I 
Dad drove me to the airport at 10:30 AM and helped me with my luggage, after which I kissed him goodbye and told him I loved him.
I surprised myself by not being nervous before the flight. Sitting next to me on the plane was an adorable 4-year-old boy who was flying with his mother. Takeoff was smooth, and the movie – Overboard, with Goldie Hawn – was watchable.
The last hour was pretty turbulent as we went through the Atlantic coast storm, but the landing wasn’t the worst I’ve had. My luggage came out quickly and I got a cab easily and was at Teresa’s by 3:30 PM.
After spending half an hour getting my clothes and other possessions out of my luggage and into my closet, I went to the post office to redeem the packages I 
New York City is chilly and rainy, but I don’t mind the cool, dark weather; it’s a pleasant change, unlike anything I’ve experienced lately.
I was thrilled to see a familiar face when I ran into Judy in the street; she seemed glad to see me, too. She said she and Brian would come over soon and help me get my futon down from the closet.
When I called Mom to tell her I’d arrived safely, she said that Dad had a depressed feeling all day because of my departure. I guess I underestimate my parents’ affection for me.
I called Teresa at the chicken store, and she said she’d be here by 6:30 PM and 
She herself is sticking to some greens, part of the diet she’s been on that’s enabled her to lose the ten pounds she said she put on as a result of the aggravation she had while working for Frank.
Because she’s lost the salary from that job and because the money from working for Norton and Pam at the chicken store isn’t much, Teresa’s interested in making a go of her catering business and has some ideas. We’ll talk when she gets in.
Josh feels the ultimate goal may be extortion and that many people are involved. While it all sounds incredible, I trust Josh.
Alice left a message, and I’ve got to call Grandma Ethel soon.
Well, I’m getting settled.
Saturday, May 7, 1988
The sun finally came out this morning, and it’s been fair and mild: warm enough to be comfortable wearing only a short-sleeved shirt.
I am about as happy as I’ve ever been. Last night I felt a bit queasy, but it soon passed, and after Grandma and I had dinner, I digested the news on TV and radio and in the papers.
It seems clear that the October stock market crash actually forestalled a recession by lowering interest rates, and I look for things to remain good until the election. After that, watch out!
I slept really well last night and had a couple of great dreams; in one, I had this 
Actually, I look pretty good, and I intend to stay that way – which is why I was glad that WNYC/Channel 31 still runs Body Electric on Saturdays at 10 AM so that I could work out (using books as weights) to one of their new series of shows.
On weekdays, Channel 31 runs the show at 9:30 AM, and it’s on WNYE/Channel 25 at 8 AM, so I don’t have to be entirely dependent on my tapes.
After I showered, I left the house at noon, walking along the boardwalk to Beach 116th Street. Due to winter storms, the beach is again smaller, and Grandma 
It’s a Sisyphean task, but there’s nothing else the city can do except abandon the idea of Rockaway as a beach community.
People on the boardwalk seemed inordinately glad to be out, so I gathered that this was the first nice day in quite a while.
After buying a Times, I waited for the Green bus by the booming Korean store – 
Getting off at Kings Plaza, I went to explore my old neighborhood on foot. Passing Dr. Hersh’s office, I reminded myself to make a dental appointment.
I had intended to get a slice of pizza on Avenue T, but the old pizzeria next to the Mill Basin Deli is now a Sichuan restaurant.
In front of our old house, a husky boy of about 16 was washing a Mercedes, and I realized he must be Alex, who was about 7 when he moved into the house in 1979.
I did see the Wagners’ door open next door and I went in to say hello to Lou and Evie, who had just gotten back from the synagogue for the naming ceremony for their new granddaughter Tiffany.
Although they both smoke, the Wagners look well, and we had a long and pleasant conversation.
Evie is still interested in education, and she says the New York City public 
They were interested in hearing about my computer education teaching. Lou said he feels too old to use a computer even though Scott, who’s a computer engineer, keeps offering to hook up a system for him.
Evie said that little Ryan is a whiz on his Commodore 64.
We talked about real estate (the neighborhood homes are going for about $220,000) and babies, the economies and families. It’s nice, sometimes, to catch 
Brooklyn will always be part of my life, and I still feel great affection for the old neighborhood. But then, I feel privileged to have been everywhere – from the artists’ colonies to the schools where I’ve taught to all my apartments in New York City and Florida.
Cornily, I think of the line in “Ulysses”: “I am a part of all that I have met.”
This morning Teresa took her niece and nephew to Fire Island, and Josh called from work to say hi. He’s sublet an apartment near Columbia for the month.
Apparently he’s still being followed and harassed, though when I told the story to Teresa and to Grandma, each of them thought Josh is imagining most of it.
Although Josh has always been obsessive, I can’t believe he’s so paranoid as to have manufactured all these incidents from nothing.
I’m starting to feel myself getting attuned to the rhythms of New York. And I feel pretty lucky to have the opportunity to be here.
Monday, May 9, 1988
Teresa called as I arrived, giving me a message from Julie Ramos of the Rockland Center, who wanted me to call her before 3:30 PM.
When I did, she said she needed to know what I’d be working on in terms of my writing for the supplementary grant application; I told her it was just more 
So far it seems that everything is going smoothly, but they won’t hear the final news from NYSCA about the Writer-in-Residence Award until midsummer.
I also returned a call from Justin, who was on his way out to do some errands. He said he’d call back tonight, that he had something to discuss with me. I bet it has to do with housing.
At the tail end of our phone conversation last night, Ronna said, “When I see you, I have to ask if you want to move in with me.” I didn’t say much because it’s something we need to speak about in person.
Aside from just getting over her second cold in a month, Ronna said that everything was fine.
“That sounds nice but expensive,” I said, and she said, “Well, I’ll talk to you about it.”
Perhaps Jordan is getting interested in her again.
I don’t believe I’d make Ronna happy as a husband or probably even as a roommate, and I’m afraid it would doom our 16-year friendship. If she has a chance at a long-term future with Jordan, she should take it.
Look at his advantages over me: First of all, he’s straight and wouldn’t be 
He probably wants kids; I suspect he’s as family-oriented as Ronna is.
I hardly know Jordan, but I’m sure he’s a good guy and more mature than he was back when he was so hypercritical of Ronna.
On the other hand, I very willingly lead a life without job stability, without 
I don’t want to have children, and I’m gay.
Yes, I do love Ronna, but as the song says, What does love have to do with it?
I’d enjoy it if our relationship went on the way it has been, but that would be incredibly selfish of me.
Yes, I’m being selfish anyway, but I can’t imagine Ronna or I being happy in a more or less conventional marriage.
I want to remain her friend, but if she marries Jordan and feels she can’t see me (and I’m just talking talk here – I’m certainly not talking about anything sexual), I could live with that the way I did with Sean’s decision to break off contact with me after he made a life with Doug.
With no water at Teresa’s this week, I plan to remain in Rockaway till at least Wednesday.
Yesterday I spoke with Pete, who rescheduled my visit to his NYU class to next Tuesday. That way I can remain here.
He gave the class five of my stories from With Hitler in New York and I Brake for Delmore Schwartz. (Pete said that a lot of the stories stand up, but that Lincoln’s Doctor’s Dog is by far my weakest collection.)
He likes teaching very much, but then his creative writing students are bright, young, and sophisticated in their literary tastes – not like the people I teach in Florida.
Grandma came home at 9 PM last night, telling me excitedly about her splendid 
Like Grandma, I’m too hamishe for such a place, which sounds snobbish and vulgar-riche. Remember how I walked out on our 1982 Mother’s Day dinner at the Jockey Club? Perhaps I’m immature, but I’ve never been able to stand the country club set.
Besides, I don’t own a suit, a tie or dress shoes. Actually, I wrote about that yesterday in some preliminary notes and sketches for a story.
Marty and Arlyne didn’t want to come up because I was here, although I certainly would have been polite to them. I have the sense that they feel bad that 
Anyway, Arlyne bought Grandma a nice dress and some lovely shoes and would have gotten her more clothes had Grandma not protested that it was too much.
Today was chilly. After working out to Body Electric this morning – my muscle tone is getting really good – I took the bus to Brooklyn and walked around the Brooklyn College campus.
Never in recent years has the college reminded me of what it was like to be 
In Boylan Hall, I heard some shouting and discovered a sit-in by Haitian students in Vice President Hilary Gold’s office. From the doorway, I saw a once-familiar sight of a college official confronting and negotiating with passionate student protesters.
I also walked over to the front of Midwood High School, but I don’t have the feeling for that place that I do for Brooklyn College, which was where I really became a person.[tc-mark]