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MSA Bulletin, v. 2, issue 1, January 1940
Page 5
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METROPOLITAN ODYSSEY BEING THE TRUE STORY --MORE OR LESS-- OF FUTURIAN HOUSE by Dick Wilson PART II We finally found an admirable place at 2574 Bedford Avenue Brooklyn. (Our search was limited to Brooklyn of the five boroughs in New York City. Staten Island, "New Jersey", and Queens were ruled out immediately as being too provincial; in Manhattan rents are sky-high (which blew our dreams of a place in Greenwich Viliage [sic] --"womb of genius ever" (Fred Pohl)--to pieces; The Brox [Bronx?] has an unpleasant sound to it.) A deposit was paid. Everything was fine. Johnny Michel, being the only one of us of age and with a job, would sign the lease. Painting of the apartment would begin immediately, and we'd be able to move in from Futurian House to 2574 with no loss of time. But we reckoned without fate. Johnny was hospitalized and operated upon for a reoccurrence of a bone disease in his right arm, lost his job, and was consequently prevented from signing the lease and moving in with us. We debated the advisability of three of us trying to meet expenses. We figured we would just about be able to make it. So we changed the lease and Dirk, who lacks a few months of being man in the legal sense bluffed it. We got the apartment. BABY Now came the problem of transporting the furniture from Futty. Moving vans were out, coming, as they did, to $7.00 up per hour. So was the Wilson vehicle, being in other service. Came to the rescue Mr. Quentin Engvaldsen, called Dit for reasons obvious, a fellow worker of mine at National City Bank. For $80.00, said he, we could have his Ford coupe, 1930, Model A. It had a motor, at least, if the rest of it wasn't too pleasing to look at. "Fifteen," said I. "Seventeen-fifty," he haggled. Sold.... It's a lovely car. There are holes as big as sauces in the tires. The driver's window falls out if completely raised. The upholstery looks as if Gargantuan moths have been at it. The baggage compartment is filled with sand for ballast. It used to be in a bag--that, however, has long since rotted away. It has two headlights, of which one works on occasion. It has two taillights, ditto, ditto. When put into first, the car leaps forward as if released from a catapult, with a roar like and [sic] airplane. There are holes in the floor and muffler thru which seep noxious fumes and carbon monoxide and smoke in large quantities. The windshield must needs be propped open for ventilation if the occupants don't wish to be overcome. The thing is useless in the rain because of the lack of a windshield wiper. "Baby", we call her after the car in MGM's "Three Comrades". ...But the real estate company fell down on the job. The Wilson Realty Co., to boot! The apartment would not be painted till the 20th of the month, if then, and we had asked for the fifteenth!
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METROPOLITAN ODYSSEY BEING THE TRUE STORY --MORE OR LESS-- OF FUTURIAN HOUSE by Dick Wilson PART II We finally found an admirable place at 2574 Bedford Avenue Brooklyn. (Our search was limited to Brooklyn of the five boroughs in New York City. Staten Island, "New Jersey", and Queens were ruled out immediately as being too provincial; in Manhattan rents are sky-high (which blew our dreams of a place in Greenwich Viliage [sic] --"womb of genius ever" (Fred Pohl)--to pieces; The Brox [Bronx?] has an unpleasant sound to it.) A deposit was paid. Everything was fine. Johnny Michel, being the only one of us of age and with a job, would sign the lease. Painting of the apartment would begin immediately, and we'd be able to move in from Futurian House to 2574 with no loss of time. But we reckoned without fate. Johnny was hospitalized and operated upon for a reoccurrence of a bone disease in his right arm, lost his job, and was consequently prevented from signing the lease and moving in with us. We debated the advisability of three of us trying to meet expenses. We figured we would just about be able to make it. So we changed the lease and Dirk, who lacks a few months of being man in the legal sense bluffed it. We got the apartment. BABY Now came the problem of transporting the furniture from Futty. Moving vans were out, coming, as they did, to $7.00 up per hour. So was the Wilson vehicle, being in other service. Came to the rescue Mr. Quentin Engvaldsen, called Dit for reasons obvious, a fellow worker of mine at National City Bank. For $80.00, said he, we could have his Ford coupe, 1930, Model A. It had a motor, at least, if the rest of it wasn't too pleasing to look at. "Fifteen," said I. "Seventeen-fifty," he haggled. Sold.... It's a lovely car. There are holes as big as sauces in the tires. The driver's window falls out if completely raised. The upholstery looks as if Gargantuan moths have been at it. The baggage compartment is filled with sand for ballast. It used to be in a bag--that, however, has long since rotted away. It has two headlights, of which one works on occasion. It has two taillights, ditto, ditto. When put into first, the car leaps forward as if released from a catapult, with a roar like and [sic] airplane. There are holes in the floor and muffler thru which seep noxious fumes and carbon monoxide and smoke in large quantities. The windshield must needs be propped open for ventilation if the occupants don't wish to be overcome. The thing is useless in the rain because of the lack of a windshield wiper. "Baby", we call her after the car in MGM's "Three Comrades". ...But the real estate company fell down on the job. The Wilson Realty Co., to boot! The apartment would not be painted till the 20th of the month, if then, and we had asked for the fifteenth!
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