Run # 589 Sunday, February 18, 1996
Hare: David Croft
Start: 5th Ave. + 41st St. On-In: Ellen O'Dee's @ 40th St. + Lexington Ave
Called away to visit my betrothed's six-fingered relatives in Alabama, I did the rounds of the usual suspects in an attempt to find a substitute scribe to report on The Mighty Croft's solo effort last Sunday. To a man, they all claimed prior engagements, fearful, no doubt, that the wrath of said Croft would descend upon them if anything unflattering were reported about him. Finally, I was forced to turn to his fellow Brooklyn Joint Master Keith Kanaga, who also had no intention of showing up but who expressed confidence that, through judicious interviewing of the key participants, he would be able to come up with a coherent account. Now Keith, above all others, can always be relied upon to be fearless and candid in his accounts of the foibles of his fellow man, and, even if all else will, will not be intimidated by Croft's awesome powers; it was a surprise, therefore, when he called me through a fog of snot and mucus to announce that the flu had laid him completely horizontal in his bed for the entire week, and that he had to withdraw from scribing duties. The few snippets that he was able to transmit to me before the telephone went mysteriously dead are nonetheless duly included here, and demonstrate that the afternoon and evening's activities were in all respects quite a success.
Our intrepid Hare commenced activities at the New York Public Library, undoubtedly a convenient location for all those Hashers who wished to get in a few hours' research before heading for the trail. An interesting piece of trivia for the out-of-towners reading this is that one cannot actually borrow a book from the aforementioned library; an attempt to enquire after the possibility of so doing is likely to be greeted with a withering smile of pity and a suggestion to try the building just across the street which is a New York public library, but not The New York Public Library. This is equivalent to setting up a place called The Condom Store and not actually selling any prophylactic material: "Oh no, Sir, this is The Condom Store; you want the condom store across the street." Having spent the last few days in a state which appears to have been designed entirely by the Odd-Job Lot Trading Company, I am in the market for some gratuitous shopping luxury, but that's another story.... Anyhow, the trail did not venture far from the starting location: the intrepid pack was led up the famous ramp by the Pan Am building, a maneuver of which yours truly singularly disapproves, as it shows Westchester-like tendencies of bringing the pack into mortal danger. Indeed, when the Hare observed a dozen members of the pack clinging to each other on a traffic island built for one, he realized the folly of such a move. However, after a few more twists and turns around the Midtown area, the group safely arrived with no casualties at Ellen O'Dee's. So successful was the trail deemed by consensus, despite the periodic danger to life and limb, that even Andy Raybould was heard to mutter "good trail." This is an event about as likely as Pat Buchanan's winning the Republican nomination, so Croft must have done some kind of extraordinary job.
But back to the On-In. The genius who found this emporium deserves a medal: an almost completely empty place of decent proportions in a slightly non-traditional part of town, where the proprietor was selling pitchers of McSorley's for $7, is a rare find indeed. The jukebox, while any decibel count over zero is offensive, offered a surprisingly decent selection, of particular note since Julie Clarke the Jukebox Queen was making one of her periodic appearances. Another striking feature of the place was the men's room, bathed entirely in blue light, which I have not seen since the seventies, when Boots the Chemists used it in their 24-hour branch in Piccadilly Circus to prevent people from shooting up on their premises - apparently it is impossible to find a vein in such light. Not only is it impossible to find a vein, it is also impossible to piss in an orderly fashion. None of this explains why Jane Kenyon (the Brooklyn regular, not the translator of Russian poetry) spent large parts of the evening in there (according to my sources), and spent the in-between times discoursing on the difference between lizards and geckoes. In addition to the aforementioned Julie and her entourage, the afternoon was notable for the return of Black Hole, who is rumored to be working on yet another Hash Home Page to end all Home Pages - since it is he who came up with the first one many moons ago, one assumes that he knows something about the subject. In addition to his technical skills, he is also wont to compose filthy versions of popular songs, and proceeded to entertain the crowds with another new one on this occasion. He, Raybould and Dave Hardy also went on to drown out the jukebox with a series of the more traditional Hash hymns.
My confidential source also alerts me to the presence of a pair of folks from the Montreal Hash, who spent most of the afternoon taking photographs. Now, since the International Hash Directory actually lists the Montreal Hash as having "average pack size: 2", one must conclude that Montreal was closed for the weekend, and that some potential fraud using photos of large groups of people was about to be perpetrated. Should they show up again, you will be the first to know.
A severe shortage of officers meant that Croft was about to give himself a Down-Down, a contortionist's trick which can only be achieved by practice, when - lo and behold - up show Stiefvater and Hardy in civvies. The former still has the excuse of being sidelined by injury, but the latter has absolutely no excuse whatsoever. It seems that they had already been on a reconnaissance mission to a new nearby bar called the Ginger Man; this did not affect Laird's ability to conduct ceremonies in accordance with the demands of his office, but did apparently, combined with the severe lack of food served at the On-In, the only blemish on an otherwise perfect score for the Hare, have a severe negative effect on Dave's short-term memory. When he arrived home two hours after curfew with Laird and Chris "already every mother's nightmare" Tyree in tow, it was to find supper in the trash and Berni steaming in its place. Dave promptly keeled over and went to sleep, leaving his guests playing with young Sean. How many survived the rest of the evening has not been reported.
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