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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507809" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Memories of West Street and Lepke</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507809" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Only teaching on Tuesdays, book-worming<br>in pajamas fresh from the washer each morning,<br>I hog a whole house on Boston's <br>"hardly passionate Marlborough Street,"<br>where even the man<br>scavenging filth in the back alley trash cans,<br>has two children, a beach wagon, a helpmate,<br>and is "a young Republican."<br>I have a nine months' daughter,<br>young enough to be my granddaughter.<br>Like the sun she rises in her flame-flamingo infants' wear. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507809" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">These are the tranquilized Fifties,<br>and I am forty. Ought I to regret my seedtime?<br>I was a fire-breathing Catholic C.O.,<br>and made my manic statement,<br>telling off the state and president, and then<br>sat waiting sentence in the bull pen<br>beside a negro boy with curlicues<br>of marijuana in his hair.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507809" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Given a year,<br>I walked on the roof of the West Street Jail, a short<br>enclosure like my school soccer court,<br>and saw the Hudson River once a day<br>through sooty clothesline entanglements<br>and bleaching khaki tenements.<br>Strolling, I yammered metaphysics with Abramowitz,<br>a jaundice-yellow ("it's really tan")<br>and fly-weight pacifist,<br>so vegetarian,<br>he wore rope shoes and preferred fallen fruit.<br>He tried to convert Bioff and Brown,<br>the Hollywood pimps, to his diet.<br>Hairy, muscular, suburban,<br>wearing chocolate double-breasted suits,<br>they blew their tops and beat him black and blue.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507809" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I was so out of things, I'd never heard<br>of the Jehovah's Witnesses.<br>"Are you a C.O.?" I asked a fellow jailbird.<br>"No," he answered, "I'm a J.W."<br>He taught me the "hospital tuck,"<br>and pointed out the T-shirted back<br>of Murder Incorporated's Czar Lepke,<br>there piling towels on a rack,<br>or dawdling off to his little segregated cell full<br>of things forbidden to the common man:<br>a portable radio, a dresser, two toy American<br>flags tied together with a ribbon of Easter palm.<br>Flabby, bald, lobotomized,<br>he drifted in a sheepish calm,<br>where no agonizing reappraisal<br>jarred his concentration on the electric chair<br>hanging like an oasis in his air<br>of lost connections....</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robert+Lowell">Robert Lowell</a></strong></div>