Gem Spa…going, going, gone…

I have two strong memories of the place and one hurrah to launch. I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Gem Spa along with three other local beards, in the middle of the sidewalk, complaining about the government or exchanging rude jokes and not-necessarily earth-shaking remarks, as we were approached from the south by a nightclub swinging, typically overweight and mean-spirited representative of the New York City Police Department named John Connally. “Move!” was his cow-like bleat, and we were being encouraged to suspend our conversation, no matter how trivial, but still engaging. I was a little pissed since there was plenty of room for ordinary-sized pedestrians to flow through that space happily and without real obstruction. My response when hr e bellied up to me was to look at my shoes and say “I’m moving”, which was true if you were only talking about my chin. For some reason hje took my remark personally and escorted me into the hallway around the corner and waited for the patrol car. On the way to the station-house he told me that his kid was being Christened the next day and if he was late for his night call he was planning to split my skull open with his stick, a truly distinctive way to celebrate your blessed event.

The second sidewalk happening was Baby Jery, renowned underground cartoonist, giving Abbie Hoffman Devil’s ears behind his head using his index fingers. Nothing like letting a little steam out of one of our legendary icons.

I distributed the out-of-town Underground Press, and this was one of the best locations in the city to peddle the LA Free Press, Chicago SEED, Atlanta Great Speckled Bird etc. They would take everything I had, no matter how crowded the stand. Many in the community that surrounded this joint were remarkably curious, aware and willing to challenge the status quo. There is nothing wrong with Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll, but the serious politics and strenuous efforts by many to overcome their backgrounds, middle-class and otherwise and become part of something which centered on our liberation from racism, sexism, materialism, wars and bad attitudes, was what really mattered. Of course the Chocolate Graham Crackers and marshmallow twists rocked too.

As much as I regret the demise of Gem Spa, it no longer had any connection to the tradition from which it sprung. An egg cream comes in a glass, pronounced “gloos” as in “gloos tea” (glass of tea) not a plastic cup, and it doesn’t cost five bucks. A two cent plain is a seltzer with “maybe a little syrup” added. The corner candy store sold newspapers, where true New Yorkers lined up for a late read on the Yanks, the Giants, and ‘dem Bums, not to mention the latest comics. The fountain provided coca cola syrup if you had an upset stomach, and there was an all important telephone, because most apartment dwellers didn’t have one. The neighborhood candy store didn’t poison the neighborhood with $17 Juul, lottery tickets. and “merch” promoting themselves. In fact gambling was done quite informally, by guys with wide brimmed hats turned upwards to the heavens. Sorry GemSpa, Rest in Peace….but I remember St. Marks Place in the seventies, and NEW YORK CITY WILL NEVER DIE.