Dream/Memory
I am in New York. Broadway. 42nd St. High noon. Sidewalks crowded like I've never seen before, not even in Chicago where I went to sleep. How did I get here? George is with me. Now he isn't. Broke in August. Hot and humid. Scrubbing garbage cans behind the restaurant. Rats jump out and scare me. Take my money and go. Dumb western on 42nd St. Wake up with a bloody mouth and sore jaw. Nauseous. Beautiful lunch on a mansion patio in Westchester. Great lawn. Nightime. Sidewalks jumping with rhythm. Birdland. Wow! Tuxedo knocks me down. Huge hand helps me up. Sonny Tufts apologizes profusely. SONNY TUFTS!! Three button, natural shoulder Ivy League suit dominates store window until I walk out with it. Long bus ride at night. Bright tower in Philadelphia. Wake up in Chicago. No. I am in Los Angeles, dreaming a memory. Or remembering a dream.
posted by BJMe @ Thursday, July 29, 2010
3 comments
3 Comments:
You have yucky dreams. Don't feel free to share.
I likes it...I likes it...Sonny Tufts? Holy moley, haven't seen that name in a century or two. The late, great Mr. Tufts deserves a fan club to preserve the memory of a wonderful actor and human being. He brought joy into the hearts of all of us little people who worshiped him from afar. Here's to you, Sonny, truly a man for all seasons. You were the best of the best. From the bottom of our hearts, we miss you, Sonny, your magnetism, humility and artistry.
--george gilbert
I liked Sonny Tufts on screen. SWELL GUY is a lost classic of the noir era.
Sonny did knock me down as he strolled down Broadway in a tux with a chick. He was big, happy and full of life. About a dozen years later I saw him one afternoon in West Hollywood. In clean, but rumpled clothes, he lurched along, slumped forward, past people who only saw another drunk. In the huge right hand that had helped me up from the New York sidewalk, now shaking weakly, he clutched a brown paper bag holding a pint of booze. He died shortly thereafter; official cause of death: pneumonia.
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