I don’t think I shall ever be able to pass the corner of 40th Street and 9th Avenue, as I did this afternoon, without thinking back to my days as a squeegee man.
It was something I sort of drifted into, almost as a lark. Then I got the bug and for three wild years my squeegee was no mere tool of my trade but nearly an appendage of my body.
40th and 9th was my corner. I was out there every night in all kinds of weather, along with my partner Lonny. Lonny was one of the greats. The second a driver would spot his hulking, six-foot-four frame staggering over with a bucket of dark gray suds and a deranged look in his eye, the window would roll down and a fistful of change would drop into Lonny’s cup.
Being of slighter build and craftier disposition, I had a different approach. I would come up quietly out of the driver’s blind spot so that I could start lathering his windshield before he had a chance to switch on his wipers. I never charged for this service, of course, but if the driver was kind enough to favor me with a tip, I would do him the additional courtesy of wiping the filthy soap out of his line of vision.
I burned out after three years and never looked back. Soon after that the city declared war on the squeegee men, and today they are no more. The last time I saw Lonny he was sleeping on a park bench barefoot. I often wonder with a little shudder where he is today, and whether he knows it was me who made off with his shoes.
i'd like to run that dirty squeegee across your bony ass, alan horn.
Posted by: jacky | March 02, 2008 at 07:07 PM