Irene, goodnight

8/28

For the first time in my 33 years in ministry, we cancel church. Feels very strange.

I’ve called our members who live downtown to make sure they’re ok. No problems. 

The worst is past. And the worst wasn’t. I go out to see what happened over night. Wind is swirling. Some drops of rain. A quiet, eerie feeling. Not much is open. The corner delis and bodegas. A kosher steak house. The Greek diner on 86th. And curiously, two Korean nail spas. Closed signs on all the churches. Runners are out runnning. Of course. If I could, I'd be running too, checking out the park.

The buses are running! A day early...

Things seem ok at the church. I  see Edward in the north doorway, wearing a  yellow slicker pulled up over his head. He’s asleep. I wonder about waking him or not. An ambulance roars by, sirens wailing. He looks up.

Edward, did you spend the night here?, I ask. 

Nah, I slept in the train station last night. Outa the rain, the storm. 

(Knowing that the subways were shut down, I wonder how be did that, but...)

So, just wanted to make sure you’re ok. 

I’m ok, ok.

I decide to wait until tomorrow to go inside and see how the new pipes managed, how things held up.

The worst is over. People are sitting outside at Gabriela’s, drinking margaritas.

Irene, goodnight.

A rain with a name

8/27

Danielle’s visit to the scaffolding showed a number of corrugated metal sheets and other various items that could blow away and be dangerous. We need to get these things secured before the storm hits. 

On the way to the church, things are strange. Whole Foods closed at 9 AM. But our neighborhood Mani Market is open. And the line stretches around the bloc. As I head to Ace Hardware, I wonder which lines are longest, grocery store or hardware store? The lines are long. There’s been a serious run on duct tape. I buy a large tarp and industrial staple gun and staples.  The corner sanitation trash barrells have all been turned upside down. And I see that even Starbucks is closed. 

At the church, the Woodshed folks brought all the tables and chairs in. Pumps at ready. Sandbags near by. All windows secured. John H has come by to help. We bring the ladder down and outside so we can go up on the scaffolding. But once its up, it’s clear. John can’t go up and me neither. I think about going up, but it’s starting to rain and just one slip and I’m done. I  call my son Dan who grabs a cab and comes down to help out. 

On the corner, two special police have been stationed in neon yellow vests. I walk over and talk to them. This is considered a strategic corner, transportationwise. Need to make sure there’s coverage in case of power outage and traffic lights going out. There’s round the clock coverage until 9 pm tomorrow. 

The one cop tells me he’s got two years to go to retirement. Normally just gets to drive higher ranking officers around. Wants to make sure if he’s here extended time he can get home  to get his medications. But it’s not bad, y’know? he says and laughs. I’m glad they’re there.

Danielle goes up and over the scaffolding facing. Dan goes up behind her with the tarp and staple gun. They tie the tarp down over the metal sheets, staple it to the bridge. They clear off stray items: metal rods, a chair, a screen. It’s raining harder. That’s all we can do.

Heading home, I see a homeless person has come under the scaffolding. I wonder what will happen to them. I hope that the police are prepared. 

There’s a sense of breathless anticipation. Half anxious. Half excited. About half the people seem panicked. Others are mixing drinks. (How are the liquour store lines?) Our neighborhood Mexican restaurant moves the outdoor tables closer in and continue serving food and Tequila.  Some people  have this apocalyptic sense and others, ah, we’ll deal with it. That’s who we are. So we’ll wait. See what happens.

My friends in New Orleans say that, after Katrina, when a rain storm comes up, little kids say, does this rain have a name? They've learned, a rain with a name, beware. This one does. This one’s Irene.

Storm Warnings

8/26

The door catches as I try to open it. Something’s there. I push harder. There’s a heavy sleeping bag in front. I suspect that someone might be there as well, but no. I look ot the right. No one there. And then to my left. And there it is. The largest, rankest, pile of fly covered shit I’ve ever seen here.

And I lose it. Just lose it. Not this. Not today. I cannot deal with this. I explode. Goddammit. And mean it. Feel like I’m done.

Go inside. Danielle wants to know what's going on. I call her outside to the steps. She looks right. And then left. And then her jaw drops. Look, I say, I need a cup of coffee, then we’ll deal with it. Gotta find a way to move this from an anger management issue to a logisitcal problem.

Go into Barney Greengrass. Get my iced coffee. Gary’s back. Welcome back, Gary, I say. Thank you Reverend. Howya doin? I tell him about my herniated disc. He winces. Tell ya what, I’ll do a brucha on my end, you do one on yours that should fix it, ok? I laugh, say thanks, head back.

Danielle’s gone for water. I examine the situation. I will not leave this to Danielle alone. Get my yellow gloves. Remove the sleeeping bag, the waste ruined crumpled newspaper. Gather pieces of cardboard. Then scrape and scoop. My stomach turns. Danielle arrives with water. That’s done. She tells me when she did this with Hope she got the dry heaves. 

I drag off the bag of bottles and cans Edward didn’t help me with. To the corner. The Ready, Willing and Able guys are out and about. An independent environmental entrepreneur picks up the bag and carries it off. 

During all this, a distinguished looking older Upperwestside Couple comes into the church to look around. I haven’t been in here in so long, she says. I always forget how beautiful it is. Turns out she’s an architectural historian. We cared so much about this buiding, she says, worked so hard...

I’m thinking that they walked in right past the still not quite cleaned up steps. And left, too. There is, a deep romance with the building that doesn’t always see the busted pipes, dead boiler, pigeon commandeered space, urban reality. We need to find a way to capture that reservoir of romance and turn it into support to bring about real change, restoration, project by project.

Clint and the Watson Plumbing guys have arrived carrying heavy pipe. There will be a big push to get those rusted out pipes replaced and drains ready before the storm hits. It’s the last chance.

Teddy comes in and we put our heads together about battening down the hatches, so to speak. Woodshed has already cancelled their Saturday night performance. The city’s public transit will shut down by noon Saturday. So they’ll cut the aftershow short tonight. Enlist everyone in bringing all the tables and chairs in from the backyard, not wanting to see them tossed around. Sump pumps, sand bags, at the ready and waiting.

Out on the steps, Edward and Charlotte are sprawled out, drinking beers. Mess around. Edward, Charlotte, this isn’t going to work, I say. I ain’t sleepin’, says Edward. And that’s not the point, I say. Open containers? can’t do that. Not good for you, not good for me. 

Let’s go, let’s go, says Charlotte, otha sida the street. Over there. Otha side.

I continue to stand there. Edward looks up, drunk and surly. So much for detox. Don’t you be standin over me. Standin over me like my father. Don’t need no father. I’m 53 years old. Don’t be standin over me. 

That’s not what it’s about, Edward. It’s about respect. Mutual respect. This is our home. It’s a church. It’s not respectful to have a mess here all day. We welcome you. But there are rules. 

He starts to gather up his things, Charlotte already gone. Sullen look on his face. I’ll have to clean up again. Later. Danielle sees how upset I am when I come back in. Edward. Charlotte. Drinking,I say.

The scaffolding company is cruising the city, checking their installations. Danielle will have to go up the ladder and check ours. I ask Teddy to give her a hand.


I talk with my friend John S in Brigantine, a barrier island off Atlantic City. His whole island's been evacuated. You know its serious when the WaWa's closed, he says, referring to his neighborhood convenience store.  His family's gone to his daughter's house on the mainland. Whole we're on the phone, the police come through the neighborhood. Everyone must leave. So they'll head further inland. 


Marty sees me. Asks about storm preparations. He's clearly back to himself. I tell him about the drain pipes. He asks how much it costs. I tell him around $3000. He tells me that Oral Roberts never had any trouble raising money. I tell him I actually knew Oral Roberts, back in my Oklahoma days. Even worked as an adjunct professor at his seminary. (One of my secrets) He doesn't understand adjunct. I explain, just one course. We talk about how Oral overextended. Lost his hospital, his medical school, his law school. And how his son Richard almost lost it all. No Oral, Richard. ( Lots more stories there to tell.) More preparations to make. Time to move on. We wish each other well for the coming storm. 


Outside, the actor who plays Maman is coming in. She's the only "older" member of the cast. She tells me what it has meant to her being in our church everyday. Then, almost conspirationally she says, And I like just sitting in there with the angels. Turns out she works in a food program at Ascension Church where my good friend Father John Duffell is the parish priest. She loves watching him work the streets. (As do I.) I tell her of our friendships, shared study and social time with neighborhood clergy. That's good she says, that's the way it should be.  Then she goes in to get ready for this evening's performance. 

A phone call comes in. A couple has a Sunday wedding. On the shore. The caterer has cancelled. The officiant cancelled. Family has flown in from Israel and Ecuador. Could I come tonight,before the storm? To Park Slope in Brooklyn? I think about my back. Then I call back and say, if you get me there and back by car service, I’ll do it.  Done deal. After all this, they deserve a night to remember. It’ll be backyard. But a tux, a gown, a wedding. 

On the way to the wedding, I drop off my son Dan at the door to see the Tenant. I introduce him to Teddy. Tell him, if you need someone to help batten down the hatches, he’s yours. 

And now off to Brooklyn. Before the storm.