The first election I was eligible to vote in was in 1969. I voted for Norman Mailer for mayor. From Dissent Magazine along with the photo above
Norman Mailer ran in the Democratic primaries for mayor of New York City in 1969 with journalist Jimmy Breslin as his running mate (Breslin sought the nomination for President of the City Council). Their program called for New York City to secede from the state of New York. Political power was to devolve to the city’s neighborhoods. The Mailer-Breslin slogan was “The Other Guys are the Joke.” Dissent published many of his controversial articles, including “The White Negro” (Fall, 1957), which is reprinted below, and Mailer served on Dissent’s editorial board for more than three decades. The photograph above was taken by a 17-year-old campaign worker who had then never heard of Dissent, Mitchell Cohen, who now co-edits Dissent. Mailer died November 10th at the age of 84.
Over the years I enjoyed Breslin's columns, but I thought his books weren't too good. I did think Table Money, however, was excellent.
Years later I was in Barney Greengrass on the upper west side and I said hello to him. He ignored me. He was probably very much like the way he is portrayed in this story by a guest (and anonymous) contributor.
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
ONE DAY AFTER WORK AT THE JOURNAL AMERICAN, BRESLIN STAGGERED INTO MOOCHIES, ALREADY DRUNK. NOW AT THE TIME, BRESLIN'S WIFE WAS ITALIAN/AMERICAN, SO YOU WOULD THINK HE WOULD BE SENSITIVE TO ETHNIC SLURS. BUT NOT THAT FAT PIG. WORDS FLEW OUT OF BRESLIN'S MOUTH, THAT IF UTTERED IN CHERRY STREET PARK, OR ANYWHERE IN THE 4TH AND 6TH WARD, WOULD BE REASON TO START WORLD WAR III.
GUINEA. BASTARD. GREASEBALL. WOP. DAGO. THESE ARE ARE JUST A FEW OF THE KIND WORDS BRESLIN YELLED OUT LOUD, TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR. JUST TO HEAR HIS OWN VOICE, I GUESS.
NOW BETWEEN SHOTS FLYING DOWN BRESLIN'S THROAT, AND INVECTIVE FLYING OUT OF HIS FILTHY MOUTH, BRESIN MADE MORE THAN A FEW PEOPLE ANGRY. THE TYPE OF PEOPLE, YOU WOULD NOT BE WISE MAKING ANGRY.
BRESLIN MUST HAVE FIGURED THAT BEING A MEMBER OF THE THIRD ESTATE ABSOLVED HIM FROM ANY POSSIBLE PUNISHMENT FOR HIS VULGAR SINS. AND BRESLIN WAS A BIG GUY, BOTH HORIZONTALLY AND VERTICALLY. BUT OBVIOUSLY NOT MENTALLY. THE VERTICAL PART COMES INTO PLAY LATER.
WELL, FINALLY A COUPLE OF GENTS HAD HAD ENOUGH OF BRESLIN'S MOUTH. THEY ROUGHED HIM UP A LITTLE, NOT TOO MUCH, THEN THREW HIM INTO THE EAST RIVER ACROSS THE STREET.
NOW IF BRESLIN HAD BEEN SOBER, WHILE HE WAS IN THE WATER, HE MIGHT HAVE SOLVED A FEW DOZEN MURDER CASES, NOT TO MENTION KNOCKING DOZENS OF CARS OFF THE STOLEN CAR RECORDS. (TELL THE TRUTH HERE. HOW MANY PEOPLE DO YOU KNOW DUMPED THEIR CARS IN THE EAST RIVER RATHER THAN REPLACE THE FAULTY ENGINE, OR TRANSMISSION, IN ORDER TO COLLECT THE INSURANCE?).
BUT BRESLIN WAS TOO INTENT ON NOT DROWNING. SO HE FLAILED AWAY AND YELLED FOR HELP, UNTIL SOME SOFT SOUL FISHED THE FAT BASTARD OUT OF THE EAST RIVER.THE VERY NEXT DAY, AND MY SAME RELIABLE SOURCES COME INTO PLAY, BRESLIN PERFORMED ACT II OF THE SAME PLAY. THE DRUNKEN, OBNOXIOUS BUM CAME INTO MOOCHIE'S AGAIN, AND AGAIN STARTED IN WITH HIS NAME CALLING.
ANOTHER TRIP TO THE EAST RIVER WAS THE RESULT.
SOME GUYS NEVER LEARN. SOON AFTER THIS, BRESLIN TOOK A LEAVE OF ABSENCE FROM THE JOURNAL AMERICA. ACCORDING TO RELIABLE SOURCES, (THIS IS HOW I SAVE MY ASS PEOPLE) LOCKED HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM AT THE DOWNTOWN ATHLETIC CLUB AND WROTE "THE GANG THAT COULDN'T SHOOT STRAIGHT."
THREE MEALS AND A BOTTLE OF BOOZE WAS SENT TO BRESLIN'S ROOM EVERY DAY TO STIMULATE HIS LITERARY JUICES, I ASSUME. THERE WERE NO REPORTS OF ANY OF THESE SAME BOTTLES BEING RETURNED OTHER THAN EMPTY.
BRESLIN'S BOOK MADE HIM A VERY RICH MAN, AS DID A FEW FOLLOW UP BOOKS, SOME OF WHICH I FIND ALMOST UNREADABLE. ONE EXCEPTION WAS HIS BIO ON DAMON RUNYON, WHICH WAS ACTUALLY QUITE GOOD.
BRESLIN QUIT DRINKING SOMETIME IN THE 70'S. THROUGHOUT THE YEARS, I RAN INTO BRESLIN A FEW TIMES WHEN HE WAS SOBER. UNFORTUNATELY, HE WAS STILL THE SAME OBNOXIOUS CLOWN, BUT AT LEAST HIS BREATH WAS LESS OFFENSIVE.
BARELY LESS OFFENSIVE
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