Thought Catalog

Richard Grayson

Richard Grayson, a retired lawyer and college professor, is the author of With Hitler in New York (1979), I Brake for ...

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When I got home I saw live photos of the jet crash; it was taking off during a bad snowstorm and went right into the 14th Street Bridge, killing motorists before it fell into the icy Potomac. It was Air Florida flight #90 en route to Tampa and Fort Lauderdale – the exact flight I took last summer.

Dr. Grasso asked me if I flirt with the girls in my class because so many of them have been coming to her asking if there’s another cute young instructor like me. . . As for Maxine, “Maybe she was trying to get an A in your class,” Dad said. By having sex with my little brother?

We stopped at the West Fourth Street Bookstore, where Artie picked up a load of little magazines. At Joe Papp’s Public Theater, we saw an interesting film, Over the Edge, in which spaced-out, bored teens vandalize a sterile Sun Belt planned community. Walking back to the subway, we passed the Guardian Angels’ Curtis Sliwa and his girlfriend and an actor from Another World.

We went down A1A. I find Miami Beach magical on a cool night when the hotels and apartment buildings are all lit up and the bay is inviting; it’s kind of a kitschy paradise. The Theater for the Performing Arts was swanky, with an upper-class crowd of professionals, gays, and rich Cubans.

At the Miami Waves Festival, held at the Koubek Center in Little Havana, Glenn Terry was trying to break the (Alec) Guinness record for lying in a hammock with his clothes on backwards. I read some of my stupid South Florida stories which seemed to stupefy the crowd.

I was in bed late last night and I called out, “Hey, Miriam, I really like you . . . I just wanted you to know.” She came in here – she stayed in the living room the last two nights – and touched my shoulder, kissed my cheek, and said, “You’re a peach.”

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