Holding The Line

Gone five years—July 12, 2024, the 93rd year of Philly Kane.

Holding The Line

In or about my eleventh year I decided the rules  That governed me  That governed our family  Were not for me

These rules, enforced by my father 

Lacked space
To breathe and explore  

To be different and clever

To take the goddamn road less traveled

Yearning for freedom I searched like a Buddha

For a crack in the oppressive palace wall   

Eventually breaking free 

To leap along city streets pursuing love and adventure 

While those nagging rules were left behind for others

This rebellion came with a prohibitive cost 

Nevertheless, I remained true to myself 

And challenged my dad at every turn

Delivering blows that hurt him bad

But he was an immovable object, never standing down 

An unenviable position to be sure

Drawing and holding that line 

Not out of pettiness or spite

But out of the sacred commitment

He made as a father

 

As the years rolled onward 

We made the uncomfortable accommodation

That old rivals often make

Learning where not to go, what not to say

With wounds close to the surface and visible scars 

Now he is stardust floating in the firmament

And others glibly dismiss and write him off 

But a wistful smile comes to my lips

As I take account and reconsider   

The man who made me earn my place in this world

 

  

The Old Pink
My Old Pink story starts in the early 80’s at the establishment next store, Mulligan’s Brick Bar. It’s also when the Old Pink was still The Pink Flamingo or as we called it—The Pink. The Brick Bar became a thing when my friend and fellow Brockport State washout Kevin McNamara started working there. Not only did he work there, but he quickly rose to the rank of manager—no one could ice up a case of OV Splits like KevMac. Of course, as it is a best practice of the most effective managers everywhere, he used his elevated position to hire all of his friends, including me—the worst White Coat/Bouncer in the history of the Brick Bar. 
Remember the White Coats? We used to circulate through the packed bar witnessing a thousand broken dreams and missed connections as we picked up and disposed of dead cases of OV Splits, beer bottles and spent glasses of vodka and ice tea. We also had a secondary function of keeping the peace in the bar. 

—Fall 2024—a novel