During the 60s, I went to Cooper Union and frequented 8th Street in the Village. Years ago, 8th Street was prosperous: restaurants, nightclubs and foot traffic, especially at night. I remember shopping for hippie clothes at an Indian store. I wore them the next day. It was summer. When I peeled them off at home, my skin was tattooed with hippie colors and patterns.
There were many shops chock full of Mod attire: platform shoes, minis and maxis in bright colors. I loved this shop, whose prices were too high for me. In an enthusiastic crowd made up mostly of what I now recognize as drag queens, I would admire the goods anyway. These days, my “taste” is more subdued; back then, anything oddly cut or bright would leap into my hands.
On weekends, 8th Street is flooded with so-called “plastic hippies” from the burbs. Why this term? Because at 1 a.m. on Monday morning, they turned middle-class.
I could actually afford some restaurant meals there, even as a student. I would occasionally have to stay late at the Foundation Building, hammering something together, and get an after-dinner lift to Queens. Everybody else seemed to live nearby, in ridiculously cheap East Village apartments, which kept getting tossed.
I left Brochetteria and its shish-kebab. Night had fallen. In front of the restaurant was a long, low town car. I noticed the custom lights: blue glass with chrome borders shaped like stars, set into the chassis. I also vaguely remember a blue glow spreading out underneath it, making the car look as if it floated.
In front of it was this business type. He wore extreme bell-bottoms, a ruffled shirt in a primary color, a hat with a wide brim and metallic band, and a mouth full of gold teeth. I went up to him.
I said, “WOW, IS THAT A PIMPMOBILE?” The classmate I was with kept trying to drag me away.
The guy just continued to smile.
Now, what was wrong with that, I kept wondering on the long drive to the borough of Queens; I was friendly. The guy was as neat as a pin. He had a nice car. You just didn’t see vehicles like that in Flushing. I am really polite. I talk to everybody.
I mean, some people…Kathryn Nocerino