Lou of Canarsie
On subway met Lou, a Canarsie man, late 30s, disappointed he didn’t achieve success in show business 10 or 15 years ago. Wanted to be in “sports entertainment”—something like Lou Ferrigno, whose neighborhood he lives in.
“I hang out with the guys he used to know and I had the pleasure of meeting him before he made it.”
Breath reeks of garlic. Face stubbled with black—a spiky beard. About five-two but broad and thick. Once opened his Washington Park calypso show, a bongo player, by dressing as Apollo. Still wears his hair like a Roman: short and combed forward, with the Caesar like fore-curls. Wanted to entertain kids, be a role model.
“I wasn’t strong enough. I just wasn’t strong enough, Tom. I put my heart before my head.”
Didn’t have the money and savvy and callousness to get on TV etc. Wears a pained expression, like a heartbroken missionary. Now he’s trying to make sense of things, to “be like I was, be a clean living, clean, successful looking boy, or guy, whatever it is god’s trying to make of my life.”
Seems slightly brain damaged, like maybe he used a lot of drugs. Very gentle manners but seems to be fighting a demon, the pain and insanity showing through.
“They wanted me to be a counselor in Harlem, the Harlem Boys club. Some great names, I mean great names, came out of there. Jackie Robinson. Oh, Tom.”
This monologue started after I asked him, in the train station, a question about the L train. Soon he was telling me about the “truly beautiful people” of Canarsie, though admitting that beautiful Canarsie wasn’t really “very nice.”
Soon got into his failed career. Got more and more detailed on that theme for the next 20 minutes. And more and more frank about his despair.
Then, before he got off, “I’m sorry, Tom,” touching his temples with a spread muscular hand, like he had a migraine. “I think I interrupted you. You were saying something.”
And, “You look like you’ll be successful. You’re tall. Us little guys don’t have much of a chance.”
Me (laughing): Tall doesn’t mean anything.
Lou: And you look smart. You look successful. You dress nice. You’ll do good, Tom. I’m trying to look clean, be like I used to.” ~ Journal, Nov. 21, 1986