Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3.16 - Weegee

We called him Weegee. I'm not sure how he came by the nickname, but it fit, maybe because he was short. Today I received the sad news that he has succumbed to a heart attack. He was a few years younger than me, one of five brothers, Steven the oldest, Alfred two week older than me, Bobby next in line, Joe the youngest. Weegee, Anthony his given name, had boundless energy. He leaped headlong into the freewheeling philosophy of the sixties. He was the first guy I saw in ballooning bell bottom pants. He was a teller of outrageous, often hilarious tall tales tales, a mover and shaker and a deal-maker. The last time I saw him, pre-1988 when I was living in Bay Ridge, he was seated in a parked car in serious discussion with another guy. He pretended not to see me. I walked on, reluctant to interrupt whatever scheme he was cooking up. About ten years ago I heard he'd been diagnosed with MS. Although the cause of that dreaded affliction is still a mystery, I suspected it was brought, at least in this case, by years of hard partying. I am amazed at how many of the males from my neighborhood, most of them five to ten years younger than me, have passed away in the past decade. There was another just last month, brought down by a stroke. I am convinced that it is the by product of the license introduced in the late 60's and early 70's, although I've not heard of a death count such as this in other areas of the country. I am almost numb, so commonplace has it become. Of course, part of this is due to the coming to grips with my own mortality. Now 62, I offer thanks many mornings upon awakening, and I do so not to God but just because I'm thrilled to have an opportunity to enjoy another day, to accomplish something. Here's a picture of the Weegee I'll always remember, at the top of the pyramid, the terrified look on his face priceless:

Here's one of him years later, shirtless, looking like a rock star, in the company of Kenny and Louie Tish, who is slyly flexing one of his massive biceps:

Sorry it's so small. I goofed somehow in uploading it to Facebook. It was taken at a Bay 37th block party in the 70's by my good friend Billy, who passed away just before Thanksgiving. He wasn't a casualty of the freewheeling 60's but of family history. I think of him frequently and get pissed that such a good person was taken far too soon. I guess it's further illustration of how fortunate those of us who are still breathing are.
Rest in peace, Anthony.
The floating book shop was derailed by snow flurries today. Back at 'em manana.
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