My New York Minutes - Chapter 3

Angels and Goodbye

When you are an aspiring model, you first have to develop a portfolio. To do this, the agency sets up barter agreements between aspiring models and aspiring photographers. The young models pose for free for the young photographers in exchange for a print. They call this 'testing'. In those early weeks, most of my go-sees were for testing. At first, I was camera-shy despite all those years of practicing in front of the mirror in Delaware. But the photographer would tell me what to do and I quickly got used to looking into a camera lens.



My first booking was for a company that made sewing patterns. It was called 'Simplicity'. I worked for one day and made $600, which was enough to live on for a month in 1976. I was excited but scared too. All the other models seemed much prettier and taller than I was. That's me in the black and white checks.

We were really suffering in that 5th floor walk-up because of the heat. Well, I was suffering. It didn't seem to bother Sarah. She left everyday for the Art Students League happy and came home happy. I don't remember Sarah being that happy any other time. Her paintings were portraits. Each week they'd have a different model and they'd spend the week painting a portrait. At the end of the week, an instructor would come in and give a critique. Sarah said at first her paintings were terrible and she was embarrassed. Then, all at once, she said she 'got it'. She felt like she knew how to paint. I didn't see the early, terrible paintings, but the ones she brought home looked like a real artist had done them. Someone who had been painting for a long time. Not a 20-year-old hippie who'd been picking apples for the last year. I asked her what did the instructor say? She said that he looked at her painting and said, "What can I say?". He thought it was really good.

With my first modeling money, I went back to Mr. Claiborne and bought us a used air-conditioner. He came over and installed it. Mr. Claiborne was an older black man. He and a younger guy carried that air-conditioner up those 5 flights. He looked like he was going to pass out. After they installed it, I gave him $20 just for climbing those stairs. He didn't want to take it and I tucked it into his shirt pocket. He looked sort of mad and I wondered did I do the wrong thing? One day, I was walking down 83rd street to go jogging in the Carl Shurtz park and Mr. Claiborne was on the street talking to an old lady with white hair. He introduced us. The lady said to me, "He's the pillar of the community!". She grabbed Mr. Claiborne's arm when she said it. She said pillar like 'pillah'. I agreed. Some weeks later, Mr. Claiborne showed up with a small sofa. He carried that up to the 5th floor too - with his young helper. He had told the lady that Sarah and I didn't have any furniture. She had an extra sofa and it had a bed in it too. One day later that year, I decided to come home from the park on 84th street. There was a beautiful old apartment building with a red awning and a doorman in front. The awning said, "Claiborne House". I realized this building would be directly behind Mr. Claiborne's fix-it shop. I asked the doorman, "Is this building named after Mr. Claiborne who has the fix-it shop on 83rd Street?".

The doorman said, "Mr. Claiborne?. He owns half this block!".

At the end of the summer, it was time for Sarah to go. I was so sad. I couldn't think about her leaving. I tried to get her to stay but she had plans to go to Peterborough, New Hampshire and visit with friends and then go back to school to study Classics and Philosophy at an alternative school called Hebron. She packed her things and headed for the train. Alone in NYC, I could still hear her footsteps on the stairs. After she got to Peterborough, she wrote to me:

I had a really nice time in Peterborough. But lots of things happened before that and after leaving you. I had a burst of tears going down the steps - really a gush - but it only lasted a minute. My luggage was very heavy and I was exhausted when I got to the subway. A lady told me I was going to 'mess up my insides' and not to carry such heavy things. On the subway, there were no seats so I was bending over trying to arrange my stuff when the train started with a jolt and I landed belly first on top of my knapsack. A woman reached out her hand to help me and we both laughed. She squished everybody down on the bench to make room for me. How's that for cold New Yorkers?

A year later Sarah was married and ten years later she had three children and then a nervous breakdown and a divorce. Now she's 50 and lives 2 doors down from me and we are pretty happy. But I think about those paintings a lot. They were really good.