Record Mart

If you have ever been in the Times Square subway station

Then you might appreciate what I am about to tell you.

If you have never been in the Times Square subway station

Well then,

I feel sorry for you.

Every subway station in New York City

421 of them

Has it’s own character

And in the seventies and eighties

They had even more character...

For real.

Back then you could buy tokens

Or jump the turnstyles

Which I was good at.

I never got caught.

I was also adept

At jumping on the trains

As they were leaving the station

So I wouldn’t have to wait

For the next one.

This was achieved

By jumping on the train

Inbetween cars.

Back then they were open

And only linked

By gates and chains.

You had to be quick and agile.

Times Square station

Is the largest of all of

New York City’s subway stops.

It stretches from Port Authority

8th Avenue West to

Broadway in the East.

It is cavernous and maze like

Reaching down deep

Five levels

At 60 feet below street grade

For the IRT line.

There are three different colored lines

Running through Times Square

Plus the shuttles...

You’ve got the Red, the Yellow and Blue.

There’s local and express.

The 1, 2, 3 and 7 lines

The N, Q, R, W, A, C and E lines.

Times Square Station runs 24 hours

And in the seventies and eighties

Times Square was a 24 hour cesspool.

Back then Times Square itself

Was dirty and raw

Packed with peep shows

Sex shops, whores, pimps, pushers

Bums, criminals, junkies, hustlers

Scummy pervs, trannies

And broken down skeletons

Of humans determined to survive

Like the bugs and the rats.

The last decaying theaters there

Showed porn and snuff films.

Vanessa Del Rio, Amber Lynn, Barbara Dare

Veronica Hart, Traci Lords and Nina Hartley.

‘Faces Of Death’...

A man getting eaten alive by a tiger

A man thrown from a plane without a parachute

A woman being torn apart by a shark

And the hardcore snuff films that were too disturbing

And caused much controversy.

They showed teasers in the lobby

On big clunky television screens.

When I was in high school

I had a leather ‘Harley Davidson’ cap

That someone had the good sense to steal.

It was stolen by a Latino gang

And I ran after them and followed them

Into a doorway on 42nd Street.

They circled around me

As I demanded them to give me

My hat back.

I held my ground sternly

But when the perro who stole my hat

Pulled out a knife

I realized that it wasn’t going to happen.

It was seven against me

And the cap wasn’t worth it.

I left it there amongst the ruin

Filth and bad taste.

I also saw a live sex show

There with some friends.

We were tripping on mushrooms

As we stumbled into a bar

That had signs up for a ‘Live Sex Show’.

We got a couple of beers

Paid the entrance fee

And walked down

A long narrow hallway to the back of the place.

Imagine walking amongst the scum

Of 42nd street

But compressed into a dirty

Polluted hallway.

We were peaking

And with dialated pupils

We pushed in amongst this circus

Holding onto our shit

So we didn’t get ripped off.

When we got to the back room

It was surreal.

There was a dirty stage...

I could actually say that

The whole room was dirty...

And I think the room was lit by

Flourescent lights

But how would I know.

They weren’t a particularly attractive couple

And I could recognize the weariness

The tell tale signs of junkies

From across the room.

They copulated

In various positions.

It was all very mechanical

And lacked any type of emotion or enthusiasm.

The most entertaining thing

To a lifted brain like mine

Were the people in the audience...

Mostly men.

It was as if it was a sporting event

That they were attending.

Arms outstretched holding pale yellow American beer

As they shouted

“Go!” “Give it to her”

“C’mon harder!”

“Yeah!”

“Make her suck it!”

I left there with a new outlook

On just how hard

And mindless

The human race could be.

Below the street

In the mezzanine

Of one of the busiest

Subway stations in the world

Amongst the humid smell

Of piss and unwashed bodies

Was a whole ‘nother world

Of entertainment.

This was before the

“Music Under New York” program

Was put into place

So the performers and musicians

Were truly buskers

Working under the radar.

The competition could be fierce

And there was a lot of rivalry

Staking claim to hallowed ground

To make some money.

I saw Doo Wop

Classical, jazz, Mexican

Guitar, musical saws, hip hop

Noize, brass bands

Black kids beating on white plastic spackle buckets.

I remember the white lady

That would completely cover herself

In white paint and clothes

Replicating famous statues

Remaining COMPLETELY still

No matter how people would

Provoke her.

I remember Julio and his dancing dolls.

I think he was from Columbia

And would dance passionately

To Latin music

With a doll that he had made.

There were the breakdancing crews

That defied gravity

With their jaw dropping displays

Of ‘pops’ ‘locks’ and moves.

There were mimes

Performance artists

Card sharks with their cheap stands of

Stacked milk crates

And terrific sleight of hand.

Just off the Mezzanine

Down a few steps from the shuttle

To Grand Central

Above the BMT platform

Tucked into a tiny shop space

On the left

Was the ‘Record Mart’

A dusty gem of Latin music and culture.

Amidst the pandemonium and havoc

Of commuters and pickpockets

Screeching metal brakes

Steel wheels clacking on uneven rails

Static announcements

Bells, horns, voices and multitudes of

Footsteps

You could hear the sound of

Salsa

Pouring forth from the speakers

Of ‘Record Mart’.

It was a sound that I grew to love over the years.

I found myself down there

Quite often

Obtaining an education

In Salsa, Boogaloo, Pachanga

Guaracha, Montuno and Descarga

From a man that I only knew

As Harry.

Harry taught me everything

That I know about a music

That has nothing to do with my

Ethnic background at all.

I just loved the music.

I was addicted to the rhythm.

I learned about Ray Barretto.

I became schooled in Charlie Palmieri

And the Fania All Stars.

I became proficient on my favorite lables like

Cotique, Vaya, Mio, UA Latino, Fania, Allegre and Palladium.

I learned that Jerry Masucci was the center of the universe

As far as Latin music in New York City.

This little nook fixed in the concrete

Of the Times Square subway station

Became a regular stop for me

Even if it meant getting off a train.

As the owner put it to me many times...

“Three customers and we’re full”.

They would play anything

That I wanted to hear

And when I liked

He would shout down to the closet below

And some employee would

Run into the catacombs

And find my record

(I was buying records then, vinyl)

And I would pay

Anxious to get home and play

My new gem.

‘Record Mart’ opened in 1961

And operated until it closed in 1999

Because of station renovation.

I just found out that it reopened

But it is obviously not the same.

It looks all shiny and slick

Much like the new Corporate Times Square

As well as the new Times Square subway station

And the new Manhattan for that matter.

When I put on my beloved

Johnny Colon or Bobby Rodriguez records

And the needle settles into the groove...

I hear the music...

I do.

But I hear and smell

The Times Square subway station...

The Times Square...

That I remember

From years ago.

Play on

“Descarga Cachao”

Forever.

Sigue tocando...para siempre.