Every once in awhile I publish a piece of my own in the LYRICAL. Recently I have been writing a Lyrical memoir of my days living in Boston – right after I graduated college.  Here is an excerpt.

Courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography © 2010 ( Picture first appeared in Oddball Magazine)
Boston 1978-83. Stream of consciousness–portrait of an artist as a young poseur.

The picture  is of a one time rooming house on Newbury Street ( 271) which I was a denizen of from (1978-1983). 
I lived in a room on the top floor (38/week), bathroom down the hall– a stairway to the roof, cockroaches–above Davio’s Rest. I remember I worked at the “Fatted Calf” in Copley Square as a short order cook, and sold the Globe over the phone in Cambridge. Used to frequent the Exeter Theatre down the block– Marx Brothers, Rocky Horror–chanting at midnight–ate at Guild’s drugstore across from the Lenox Hotel, Ethel, the counter-woman, continuous narrative of her rotten kids at the Old Colony project in Southie… I also was an asst. manager at Big L Discount Stores for a stint– health and beauty aids–can you believe it?…taught in the South End at Dr. Solomon Carter Mental Health Center–DYS and DSS Kids… field trips to Roxbury and the abandoned Jewish Temples…  home visits for the kids…the families smoking pot and doing lines..There was a restaurant I used to frequent, the Peter Pan on Beacon Street–big cafeteria style food, poetry readings, Jim and I sat near the steam table, our words floated on the mist of steamed cabbage– and I was habitually at the Kebab and Curry right down the block…sitar and sag . I used to see Richard Yates  (Revolutionary Road”)  a drunken shamble down the block, and I had the same Chinese laundry ( I always lost my ticket..the Chinese guy was irate (“Why you lose ticket!!”) as the late radio personality David Brudnoy–loved his show–his pockmarked and intelligent face. I remember … working as a clerk at the corner of Newbury and Beacon Street–  (Sunny Corner Farms) “The Cars” used to come in there regularly,  Rick so sky high..fingering a Twinkie.. also remember meeting Gildna Radner, Barney Frank rumpled and in a rush, and Howard Zinn,–( tall, a radical patrician) on the night shift. And beers after work at Frankenstein’s. My boss–a fat Irish man called me a dirty kike regularly after he had a few…nice to me the next day… I remember the ancient gay security guard  (Maynard) who used to come in to chat–and always told me of stories of how young men were enamored with him– oh but he maintained his purity–and yes the “toothless whore” who told me she only gives “head” to her “man” her point of honor. I remember during a snow storm I gave shelter to the street icon ” Mr. Butch” and almost left him there overnight…Oh yes the Victor Hugo bookshop–what a joint– cloistered myself with the used and rare..and the Newbury Steakhouse–remember the chef–, black dude, a real card–dirty jokes and hard-earned wisdom–we used to shoot the shit… I even had a sort of girlfriend–well–I later learned she was community property–if you know what I mean–I remember sitting on the stoop of my brownstone on a hot summer night, and people would stop and chat and shoot the summer breeze–,I remember being dead drunk and asking the drunks sleeping on the grates of the Boston Public Library what the meaning of life was…They told me to f-off. I remember the thick hash and eggs I had every morning for breakfast– how the eggs would bleed every morning on that mound–and Malaba–the Zimbabwe – man on the night shift at McLean — rasping in his Louis Armstrong voice–called it hashish browns -would be dead if I continued that habit. I remember writing in my furnished room–with my hot plate and thinking I was a Beat poet or something–mice scurrying by–my father told me” get the hell out of there,” My mother joined in ” That’s the life style they lead, Larry…”  Hordes of us made pilgrimages to be with the rodents and roaches.. remember all night poker games with the service bartender, who worked at the Hilton. He was going back to U/Mass for years to finish his degree.. for the past 5 years…

— Doug Holder

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To have your work considered for the Lyrical Somerville,
send it to: dougholder@post.harvard.edu