Going back to the
Summer of ’72, it was an idyllic time with the Cat Pack, which was Georgie, Alma,
Mingo and Jerome Browne, along with assorted guest stars which included future
Leatherettes Sonia Martinez and Mary Vasquez, as well as Ramon Merced and
Marvin “Mad Dog” Brown. The reason I call it the Cat Pack is because we spent
most of our time lazing about bars and lounges, spending lots of money to be
pampered by bartenders and barflies. We had lots of good times, but there was
one more member that truly made it a summer to
remember.
Around that time, Alma’s
aunt came up from Puerto Rico, and for a time she was my main squeeze. Carmen
was a widow who happened to be the youngest sister of Nery, Mingo and the rest
of the Alindato clan. She must’ve been in her late thirties when she came to
visit the Merceds, and it was a summer I would never forget. She was another
woman with the lovely face and hourglass figure I kept coming across, but she
was reluctant to get involved with such a younger guy (they would’ve called her
a cougar by today’s standards). She made my blood race but, as a young dumbass,
I didn’t know how to handle the situation. We messed around with one another
but I blew every opportunity until she returned to PR, never to return. Over a
decade later she was bitten by a poisonous insect and had her arm amputated,
after which she died of a broken heart. It was a terrible tragedy and I only
hope she was right with the Lord when she left us.
We caroused
everywhere, from Flatbush Avenue (Jerome’s turf) to Hobnails in Bay Ridge
(where Sue Swingle from ISO hung out), Brooklyn Heights to Red Hook, and Wall
Street to Greenwich Village. We spent money like no tomorrow and closed
countless bars after 4 AM. We still had Mary Vasquez, a cute albino girl who
would later (along with Alma and Sonia) become one of the original
Leatherettes, and Marvin “Mad Dog” Brown, a lowbrow Jewish fellow who was one
of the supervisors at ISO. He had an exaggerated duckfooted walk, perpetually
toked his cherry pipe, and had a knack for tossing off outrageous one-line
insults and remarks as quick as I did. All in all, we were quite the motley
crew, and sadly enough, it was all too good to last.
After Carmen left
for Puerto Rico, Georgie discovered marijuana and slowly began drifting towards
that kind of crowd. He started missing work and quit helping with the bills,
and after one hiatus he returned days later to find his bags neatly packed for
him. We remained friends but eventually he went back to PR and was never seen
again. The rest of us remained weekend warriors but we weren’t as far and
widespread as we had been with Georgie and his jalopy.
Unfortunately I
would see the same psychological scarring that Kenny displayed a couple of
years later when we crossed paths. Georgie was remote and had little allegiance
to anyone or anything. He probably was as close to me as anyone else he knew,
and I think that said a lot. I did everything I could to help him fit in, but
sometimes those neuroses are so ingrained over time that nothing makes a dent.
He put up a wall and would let no one in, plain and simple.
He left on a real
sour note when I found that he and the boyfriend of the previous occupant of my
apartment broke into the top floor apartment rented by Carlos and Tita
Franchesci. They were an attractive couple who I really liked, though Carlos
had a rep for running around on Tita. She was a sexy redhead built like a brick
outhouse. He had made a few remarks about her putting on too much weight, but
for the life of me I never saw a problem. I fantasized about her for years but
never did more than interrupt her pre-shower time by bringing up her mail when
she came home from work. Plus, I liked Carlos a lot, and it really pissed me
off when I found out what Georgie did. Still, I always thought of Georgie as a
brother and forever will.
It was around that
time that I came to a major religious crossroads in my life that would leave
its scars but eventually lead to one of the most profound spiritual epiphanies
of my life. I began studying with a Jehovah’s Witness named Carlos (yep,
another one), and he was one of the meekest men I’ve ever met though ablaze
with fervor for the sect. Alma began studying with us and he brought us in
about as deep as one can go without making a commitment. He was painstaking in
his research, as was the entire Watchtower organization, whose world
headquarters is in Brooklyn Heights alongside Suicide Hill. That was our name
for a very steep downhill block along Hicks Street leading to a highway
underpass, which the only most reckless cyclists would dare to attempt. At any
rate, we were deep in Witness territory and barely managed to escape.
They were the ones
who first exposed the Roman Church to me as the prophetic Babylon of the
Apocalypse. They saw themselves as the One True Church, and even considered all
Protestant religions as Christendom. They explained how all the Christian
holidays had pagan connections as designed by the Vatican, and painstakingly
proved it so that Alma and I stopped celebrating them entirely. It wasn’t until
my first marriage, over twenty years later, before I celebrated another
Christmas. We were sinking in as if in quicksand, and the only thing that kept
us from being submerged was my absolute faith in Jesus Christ as Lord.
You see, the
Witnesses believe in Jesus as ‘a’ son of God as opposed to THE Son of God. They
are strict monotheists who recognize no doctrine proving a Blessed Trinity.
Their Douay-like Bible spells the Holy Ghost in small letters, denying there is
such a Person, seeing Him only as God’s ‘active force’. This was causing major discord
in my soul, and Carlos decided to write out a ten-page discourse showing how,
chapter and verse, Jesus was not God and there was no Holy Ghost person.
It was the Holy
Ghost Himself who refused to let that happen. He yanked my heart strings so
violently that I felt as if I was denying God Almighty, which, in fact, I would
have been. Try as he might, Carlos could not dissuade me from believing in the
Deity of Christ, and I told him so before we finally parted ways. When I made
my declaration, I was overcome by a wave of Holy Ghost power that fully assured
me I had made the right choice.
It was no
coincidence that the Witnesses were at the pinnacle of their influence around
the world. They had some hardcore ministers who were at the top of their game,
taking the planet by storm, and their sect was growing by leaps and bounds. My
suspicion was that many more Christians besides myself were being taken to the
arena worldwide, and the Holy Ghost acted mightily to cut through the darkness
with the Sword of Truth, which is the Word of God. They began peaking by the
end of the decade, and by the time I rededicated myself to the ministry in the
90’s, they were just another sect of eccentrics.
One thing I can
pass on to Christians struggling with their faith: the Truth will always
prevail in making itself known. Believers should never avoid debate, discourse
or false doctrine in asserting the veracity of the Word of God. Regardless of
how impeachable evidence appears to the contrary, the Truth will always win
out. The fact of the matter is that the Bible (in its most authentic King James
version) is absolute Truth, and if one part of it is false, then the entire
document collapses. This is why so many books were edited out of the Scripture
when the Holy Ghost directed the compilation under King James. Scholars from
around the world were brought together to research and compare every Hebrew,
Aramaic and Greek document known to man in order to piece together the unbroken
and perfect Word of God. It is the complete Old Testament of the Hebrews,
preserved over six thousand years, together with the New Testament of the
Gospels, the Epistles of Paul and the writings of the Apostles. It is a perfect
Book with no inconsistencies, and any and all that contradict it have been long
since discarded. With such a weapon in one’s arsenal, how can one ever fail in
battle against the dark side?
(To be continued...)
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