Readers Report
This story took place in the late 1960s. . . . So this is not me today and I hope it's enjoyable without offense.
The Basement People
by Gabor Zabor
Chapter One: At First Glance
Everyone needs a place, a refuge from the world. In our world it was the basement.
Entering into Gaboo's basement you'd find it dark, strange glimpses of light seem alive, each with their own personality. Red, blue, green, and even dayglow, that ere glowing purple. Strange illuminated things; an old army boot dripping with what appeared to be blood and covered with dayglow hung in the middle of this room partitioned by old wooden posts that held the floor above. The walls seemed to crawl with things painted or hung in an order only a drug crazed hippie of the truest kind could appreciate.
One corner looked something like an Arabian tent mysteriously transported to this Brooklyn scene. Made of old cast-off oriental rugs and drapes hung from the ceiling with no obvious entrance. The sight was strange, but it was not just the eyes that were attacked. The strong odor of pot mixed with candle smoke, wine and music engaged your other senses. The music was not your usual sixties Rock and Roll, but the howling of Buffie Saint Marie, singing her classic Codeine. All this transported the visitor to another world.
The room overflowed musical instruments. The two most prominent, a six-piece drum set with its shiny cymbals and, sitting in a dark corner, a Hammond B-3, "The King of the Keyboards." This monster, flanked by two huge Leslie speaker cabinets, gave the room a gothic, church-like feel, although when cranked up could shake the entire two-story structure as well as drive the neighbors to acts of violence. This was the basement, the place where the Basement people dwelt and so they became named.
So who were these people? They were the musicians, hippies, dopers, outcasts and homeless of the city, more precisely of "The Bay"—Sheepshead Bay—who were befriended by the owner's son, Gaboo. It was like an open-house, uh, basement. Not left wide open, but the insider
[The submitted text stops here. I'd be happy to post a fuller version. DNM]
9 June 1996
Sitting at the cafe on Flatbush Ave. near Brooklyn College eating caviar on Russian pumpernickel, while listening to folk music in the 60s.
17 July 1996
My Brooklyn was 647 Warwick St. and later 699 Jerome St., both in East New York. I went to Brooklyn Tech, graduating in 1959. Brooklyn was the BEST . . . the Dodgers, Coney Island, Joe's hot dog stand on Linden Blvd. in Brownsville, the ethnic mix, Black, White, Jew, Gentile, all living together in relative harmony. My childhood friends . . . Marty, Allen, Salvy. Travelling to 18th Ave. to visit my grandmother and aunt and uncle. Taking the Green Line Bus to Rockaway. The IRT New Lots line on which I travelled for 8 years, first to Tech and then to CCNY. Our college club on Georgia Avenue, with Bob, Herb, Ave, Richie, Larry, Phil, and the rest of the best!
23 July 1996
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