What a difference 29 years make. Ironbound in 2000 was a far cry from Ironbound in 1971-1973.
The number of Brazilians walking around the Ironbound streets in 2000 was much higherr and from different parts of the country. In the 1970s they were mostly Mineiros & Paraenses with a Paulista minority made up the Brazilian mix...in 2000 there were Paranaenses & Gaúchos and everyone else.
There were no Portuguese-speaking evangelical churches in the 1970s, nor a Brazilian press either. Weekly 'Brazilian Voice' no doubt had its name inspired by the (Greenwich) 'Village Voice'...and was eagerly read by the migrants.
In the 1970s, Brazilians were resigned to never speaking to their loved ones left in the old country once they arrived in the USA. Now, one had telephone exchanges on the main roads where one could talk for hours with relatives without being bankrupt.
Vespucci claimed to have understood in 1501 (after having traveled there twice) that Brazil was part of a fourth continent unknown to Europeans, which he called the "New World". The claim inspired German cartographer Martin Waldseemüller to recognize Vespucci's accomplishments in 1507, by applying the Latinized form "America" to a map showing the New World. (Wikipedia).
The problem with the United States of America is that, as Caetano Veloso sang in his 1967, 'Soy loco por ti, America', this is a country without a name. Yes, it is a country without a name.
In the early 1600s, when the English began to inhabit these lands on the American continent, each colony had its own name: Virginia, New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, etc. Over time, they came together and called themselves the United States of America. But the country itself was left without a name. This is a federation, not a country.
And like today, Portugal, the United Kingdom, Italy, France and 8 other countries in the European Common Market decided to become a Federation, calling this federation the European Community, but each country has kept its own name. Now, here in the U.S.A., things weren't very well thought out, perhaps they didn't think that one day they would be a homogeneous country and not a federation.
The fact is that this is a country without a name. This is the source of all this confusion.
Maybe if reader Adinam Nogueira knew all these facts he wouldn't be so outraged to see certain Brazilians referring to the United States as 'America'. The poor things don't have a name. Perhaps the right thing to do would be to call the country as the United States and the inhabitants Americans. But Canadians and Mexicans are also North Americans... Try to get out of this.
Luiz Amorim, Newark (NJ)
Brazilian journalist Roberto Lima (37 years old) writes about something all migrants bitterly know: Sunday is arguably the worst day of the week. Monday through Friday glides along effortlessly for one usually works and don't have time to think about his plight. On Saturday, he usually goes shopping, goes to the movies or else... but on Sunday, especially those who don't have children, he stares into his loneliness in such a way that it is really painful.
Ontem foi domingo, um domingo plúmbeo (leaden Sunday), que nem de longe deixou transparecer um domingo de primavera. Quase enlouqueci. Acho que o fato de ter sido véspera de um feriado também ajudou, transformando as ruas de Kearny num pavilhão de escombros. Fiquei inconsolável com o panorama que se desenhou diante de meus olhos. Da janela do apartamento vislumbrei o manto cinza (grey cloak) que cobria a tarde, trazendo de reboque a lembrança de muitos outros domingos melancólicos (gloomy Sundays) de minha vida.
Sempre vi o dia que Deus descansou de uma forma morna, ressaqueada (hung-over) como se algo tivesse se quebrado, ou reerguido das cinzas, dentro de mim. Essa sempre foi a percepção. Em alguns domingos, penso que o mundo vai se esvair em marasmo (doldrums) e melancolia.
Em 1986, aos 23 anos de idade (Roberto Lima was born in 1963), escrevi um livro de poesias, que batizei de 'Tango Fantasma', título de um dos poemas da obra. Nesse poema específico eu falava da solidão de um domingo, que nascia parido da solidão de outros tantos domingos, e de um sujeito que perdera a esposa e amante durante um único ciclo de sete dias.
A primeira mulher, ele perdera para a monotonia do casamento. A segunda, para um profissional liberal que havia contratado para cuidar do caso de sua separação com a primeira. Modernoso, triste, probabilíssimo.
Lembro-me que escrevi esse poema num domingo à tarde, após retornar de um almoço na casa do poeta Marcos Pizano. As ruas de Governador Valadares-MG estavam desertas, e quando tomei o ônibus para São Raimundo, tive uma forte impressão que tinha entrado num trem-fantasma. Apenas o motorista e o trocador fizeram-me companhia durante toda a viagem, o lotação saltando como um cabrito sobre a estrada esburacada.
No alto-falante do teto do ônibus a voz de Chico Buarque cantava: 'Ó pedaço de mim, ó metade arrancada de mim'... Cheguei em casa aos frangalhos, sentindo o peso de uma barra pesadíssima que aquele domingo implacável havia jogado sobre mim. E nunca mais me curei. E assim continua sendo, os domingos se repetindo com os mesmos contrastes, escrevendo uma história com pedaço de carvão sobre uma superfície de pedra.
E é por isso e por muito mais, que meus domingos serão sempre de almoço em família. De irmã chegando com filho pequeno no colo, de mãe mexendo a comida no fogão, de sobrinhos indomáveis correndo pela casa, como se ali fosse o pateo da escola durante o recreio. Meus domingos foram, são e serão sempre de macarronada, de frango assado com farófa, de impadão de camarão, e de salada de legumes cozidos com mayonese.
Roberto Lima wrote this chronicle to 'Brazilian Voice' from 7 May to 13 June 2000.
Cubu, (on the left) a patron of Salão Brasil-USA, Maury Lima, the coiffeur & Josué.
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Portugal Day was celebrated on 10 and 11 June 2000, in the Ironbound.
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O forte cheiro de sardinha assada enchia o ar e abria o apetite de quem passava perto das enormes churrasqueiras espalhadas por toda parte. Ambulantes vendiam toda sorte de miudezas. Restaurantes locais não perderam tempo e colocaram cadeiras e mesinhas nas calçadas. Havia bandeirinhas portuguêsas por todos os stands. O consumo de água gelada e cerveja quase superou o do tradicional vinho.
Na tarde de domingo, 11, houve desfile de carros alegóricos representando as várias regiões de Portugal e grupos folclóricos da comunidade lusa. No desfile também participou o Fire Department do Ironbound e caminhões de cargas de empresas operadas por lusitanos. O clima de alegria e orgulho de ser português era fortemente sentido.
A maior concentração de brasileiros ocorreu no início da Ferry Street, onde foi instalado um caminhão de som tocando MPB. Apesar do clima de festa houve brigas entre indivíduos na multidão que se aglomerou na frente do caminhão. Vamos aprender a nos divertir, meus brazucas. Evoluir é preciso.
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In case one needed a fake ID, a Driver's License or a bogus Green Card, one must bring this flyer along. Ask for Roman or Alex (2000).
Letter I have sent Damazio Nazaré circa 2002, relating my adventures in the Ironbound in 2000 & 2001.
In addition to the greater number of “Portugas”, I have seen in Newark in 2000 & 2001, the number of Brazucas also tripled or quadrupled or even more than that. There are multiple Brazilian stores that sell everything; from VHS tapes of SBT’s “Programa do Ratinho” to Cica’s goiabada (guava paste) and other industrialized products from Brazil. You can practically find everything from Brazil there. On Adams Street there is a mini shopping mall where the majority of stores are owned by Brazilians; hairdressers, freight forwarders, travel agents, etc. In front of this “mall” you will find dozens of Brazilian “matutos” chatting, talking about Atlético or Cruzeiro, how to work in construction jobs, how to get a fake Social Security card which costs between 50 and 60 dollars etc.
If you still have your SS card, please, keep it, as it is currently very difficult to get a “hot” one. Fajutos are everywhere. They invent a number and print a card on home PCs and Employers accept it. Banks don't accept it, so it's difficult to open a bank account, which leads to bizarre facts, like what this one: I went to act as a translator for a Brazuca in Plymouth-MA and noticed that he was carrying a wallet “stuffed” with 50-dollar and 100 dollars bills. I asked him why and he said he didn't have a bank account and didn't trust leaving the money at home. He was a “walking bank”.
The Social Security Department itself accepts contributions sent by the employer in the name of these “fake” cards. Once a year the Department sends a letter warning the taxpayer to check if the number is correct, but they do not send the money back. In other words, everyone pretends they don't know anything about this 'mystery' and so “America” continues in good health, everyone is making money and no one is asking questions!
Getting a driver’s license without the real SS card is also impossible or almost. A fake green card is also easy to get. I paid $170 for mine, but I ended up only using it once. I used my old Social Security and even got a provisional driver's license in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts which is the official name of the State of Massachusetts.
Having a real Social Security card is a “status symbol" among Brazucas. Even if you lost the “paper” but remember the number, the SS card counts. It was a huge help for me. I tried to get a duplicate of my SS card but I was refused it, because at the Federal Building on Broad Street (remember where the dreaded Immigration was located?) the employee insisted on seeing my Green Card; I had taken my Australian passport in case I needed to identify myself at the entrance. As she insisted a lot, I ended up showing my passport. She checked the type of visa I had, and said it was not suitable for working. Note that I already had my SS card. I just wanted a duplicate, with the same number, as they changed the card layout. But faced with so much difficulty, I decided not to insist any further, I said ‘Thank you’, and I slipped away.
Entering any federal building after that building in Oklahoma City was blown up in 1996 is a true “war operation”. You have to go through metal detectors; sometimes being “searched by policemen” etc. And this was all before what the Yankees call 9/11 (September the 11th, 2001). Imagine now what paranoia must be like.
It is worth noting that at the very summer of 2001, in early June, I visited the World Trade Center together with Carlos Oliveira, a Brazuca born in 1959, whom I met at a Brazilian shop the first day I arrived in Newark and became friends with. He worked as a shop assistant for a Brazilian old man called Coutinho and decided he wanted to open a store of his own. To do so he needed to get a license to import which was issued by the New York-New Jersey Port Authority located at the World Trade Center. We took the PATH train and went to one of the Twin Towers. The Import-Export Office was located at the 2nd or 3rd floor so we didn't have to go all the way up which was a pity. Had I only known, those towers would vanish in the next 2 months I would have made the extra effort to go all the way up. There were many New Jersey municipalities's representatives in the towers.
I took some photos of Newark and would like to show them to you when we have a chance to meet. In fact, if you went there tomorrow, I think you wouldn't find much of a difference in the city. This is a characteristic of more developed countries; they maintain a certain “sameness”, which does not exist here in Brazil, for example. Obviously you won't be able to visit 'Tia' at 112 Ferry Street.
The Pathmark moved from behind Wilson Avenue to East Ferry Street, that section that Ferry turns onto the direction of the New Jersey Turnpike. They tore down two blocks of houses there, building a huge Pathmark in one side and 'plaza' in front of the market, where there is a Post Office, laundry etc.
Otherwise, almost everything remains the same. The PATH train (Port Authority Trans-Hudson, did you know?) is still the same; with trains, which I believe are the same ones we used to ride to go to New York University every Saturday morning to take that English course, remember? Those trains are over 20 years old. Of course, the PATH no longer goes to downtown Manhattan, as the WTC station no longer exists by the work and grace of Allah. But it still goes to midtown-Manhattan, stopping first in Harrison, Jersey City's Journal Square, Hoboken (Did you know Frank Sinatra was born there in 1915?), Christopher Street (in the Greenwhich Village), 14th Street, 23rd Street, 28th and finally 33rd Street.
I found the new Brazilian Press there very interesting, as there are a lot of publications. There were none in our time... There are two newspapers in Newark alone. There's another one in Flamingham, Massachusetts, and others that I don't even know where they're based at. Most of them are weekly tabloid newspapers. They are regularly distributed free of charge in Brazilian shops, which end up being meeting centers for Brazucas in general. You can also find them in beauty salons, travel agencies, grocery stores, bars etc. Their readership must be in the thousands or more.
The intellectual level of Brazucas in general, I found to be worse than in the 1970s. There are middle class fellows from the Southern States...I even saw some Gauchos at the Newark Public Library using the Internet; but the vast majority are semi-literate people, who come from all over Brazil. Now there are a lot of people from Paraná. Many of them have German descent so sometimes you think a fellow is American, due to his being blond and blue-eyed, and the guy opens his mouth and you hear 'caipira' all over. It's no wonder Ratinho is their idol! I could never write this for a newspaper, but I can write it for you!
I guess ‘our time’ was a better time! Could I be right? In the early 1970s, Brazucas didn't speak English, but compared to today, things got worse, because so-and-so has Globo Cable at home and don't watch North American TV at all. Now there is a VCR and families, when they are not watching Globo, can watch sermons from a local “evangelical pastor” or programs from Brazil. There is a proliferation of evangelical churches with Brazilian pastors; more or less following what happens in Brazil now. If at that time it was difficult for Brazucas to learn English, now it is almost impossible.
WABC reigned supreme back then, remember? Now it's not like that anymore. I don't know which radio station is successful, but even the Top 40 has been destroyed. In fact, I found a super incredible website from the old WABC Music Radio on the Internet, and there I found out what happened to the Top 40’s radio stations. The market has been “segmented”; that is, rappers listen to rap radio; Latinos to Latino stations; teeny boppers listen to their radio stations etc. So things changed a lot there. When we lived in the US it was more democratic. WABC and the others played all sorts of music. Brazucas, poor things, are completely alienated; much more than in “our time”.
Today's Newark, at times, seemed to me as if it were a “middle class” neighborhood in Brazil, except that the little guys cruising Ferry Street were driving “imported cars”, with their stereos blasting Chitãozinho & Chororó, Daniel, Zé Camargo & Luciano or some Pagode group; I even heard Racionais MC’s on the streets of Newark. Quite often pagode groups or sertanejo duos perform “live” in a club or stadium there and they are paid a lot of dollars. You know that money runs wild in the U.S. There you see the “color of money”; you see “greenbacks” in droves and people really spend it. Very different from ‘our time’, when we listened to John Lennon, Badfinger, Al Green, Roberta Flack, Chicago and even Spanish salsa groups.
In the short time I was there I had the chance to witness that the drug problem is still the same as it was then, if not worse, as now there is a lot of Heroin users among Brazucas. In the winter of 2000, I lived in a cellar that was nothing more than a “tenement” that reminded me a lot of the “other” tenement that I lived in in the winter of 1971-1972. There was a knife fight between a Capixaba man and a Lisbon man. They were both heroin users. There are many people who work all week to throw their entire salary into the hands of “drug dealers”. Disgusting! But I think this is part of the “Immigrant Anguish”, which we already know.
I went deep down “Memory Lane”, as they say! I walked along those streets that led to the old Francis Street record factory. The factory no longer exists, but the building is still there. It gave me a shiver down my spine looking at that street. It even seemed that deep inside they were “cooking” vynil paste, which would then come to our heated metal tables, for us, the cutters, to cut and make our 45 r.p.m.’s. I even heard the voice of that Puertorriqueño Mike saying: “Como le gusta? Do you like it fat and fleshy?” That Black lady (Anna, according to you) who made plastic ashtrays at the night shift, whose husband came to pick her up in the morning in a Lincoln Continental.
Currently there are several evangelical groups in the Newark region and even in others, where there is a Brazilian community. In the summer of 2000, as soon as I arrived in Newark from Australia, I didn't know what to do. I went to several Brazilian stores to see if anyone could give me any tips on how to find accommodation, but I was treated coldly. Nobody gave me any information. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I continued walking along the Ferry with my backpack on my back. Suddenly a boy, standing on a corner, gave me an evangelical pamphlet in Portuguese and we started talking. He was Brazilian. I told him I was arriving at that moment, and he was ready to help me. He took me to some guesthouses and Portuguese or Hispanic houses in those side streets of Ferry, but I didn't get anything. He gave me some tips on “how not to fall into the trap of bad company and enter the world of drugs”. It must have been the drama of his life until he found refuge in a Church. If he only knew that I was an “old monkey”, very old.
Even with the help of the evangelical boy, I ended up not finding accommodation in any of the places I was recommended. I was already thinking about going back to Manhattan when I hit the jackpot. I went into a Brazilian store called “Vem Q Tem”, on Merchant Street – the cross street of Ferry, close to St. Stephen, and there I ended up making friends with the guy at the counter, a Brazilian guy my age, called Carlos. It is old in the region, although not as old as we are. Then he told me that he was born in 1959, therefore 10 years younger than me. He arrived in the region in 1979, 8 years after you and me.
After the end of business on Sunday, Carlos closed the store and I went with him to where he lives, on New York Avenue. He spoke to Nelly (real name: Rubmela), the old Chilean woman, and she immediately rented me a room next to hers and her boyfriend Gordon, who she calls ‘Gordo’. I was very happy to be back in the heart of Newark, a city in which I was very happy at the height of my youth. I think we lived our youth very well, with this desire to live abroad. I think it was an experience that enriched us internally. Our lives would have been much less interesting if we had never tried our luck in the U.S.A.
As of Monday I have already outlined my routine in Newark-2000; I walked down Ferry Street every day with a smile on my lips again. I went to Newark Public Library, where I could use the computer for free, or I took the PATH to go to Manhattan, where I walked until I couldn't anymore. I was able to turn Manhattan upside down. New York is a fascinating city, and I enjoyed myself during the several weeks of this wonderful summer of 2000. My great disappointment was finding 42nd Street completely uncharacterized... my heart ached when I didn't find that place that we loved so much in the 70s.
In addition to this service, there are dozens of “international calling cards” for sale at any newsstand or store. It's a plastic card like our telephone cards, where you “scratch” a certain place and a number appears, like in “scratch cards”. You call and can talk for a certain amount of time, which is usually 1 hour. Cards cost $5 to $10 and are of varying quality. Some can only be used once. Others you use in several calls until you use the time stipulated in it.
It's interesting how conservative Americans are in their habits. You well know that they never adapted to the Decimal System. Because to this day they use the so-called “Imperial measurements”: miles, feet, yards, pounds, pints, quarters, acres, etc. No matter how hard they try, they cannot change the habits of these people. Because to this day they still use coins to call on pay-phones. There is still no calling card like the rest of the world. The United States is so advanced in some aspects and so behind in others.
I intended to stay there for a while, but after a few weeks I had to return to São Paulo, as my mother wasn't feeling well, but thank God, it was just a scare and she's fine.
After returning to São Paulo, I found out that a friend of mine, called Marcelo, who coincidentally is from Guarulhos, went to “try a life” in the United States and settled in Massachusetts. He called me one day and said he had a job for me there; I wanted to get on a plane immediately. I didn't think twice, even though it was already October... you know how Autumn-Winter is there. From New York I took a bus to Boston (it takes about 4 hours) and from there I took a train heading south, which takes 1 hour to Plymouth, a small town on the coast, close to what they call Cape Cod. Plymouth is the oldest city in the United States; It was there that the Mayflower ship landed in 1622.
I always wanted to visit Boston; since 1972, as I had met Brazilians in Newark who had escaped from immigration there, and spoke very highly of where they had come from. In fact MA is where the salary is the highest; much better than NY and NJ. I ended up going to work at a local Kmart, as a night “restocker”. It was very interesting because it was there that I met the new Generation of Brazilians, as I worked with about 20 of them. And I was shocked, because the cultural level is very low compared to “our time”, which between us, wasn't like that anymore... but, believe it or not, things got worse... that is, the bad got worse. But this only reflects the social situation of our country called Brazil. We are living through a horror that is difficult to describe. An endless horror, which began with the 1964 Military Coup and led to what we know today!
In fact, if I were “killing a dog while screaming” I could stay there and even earn a nest egg, as there is a lot of demand for “English teachers” in the Brazilian community, which is large in any medium-sized American city. Brazilians are diversifying geographically, going to places like Atlanta, Georgia and others that I can't remember at the moment. The price per class hour in the region was 10 or 15 dollars per student. You never teach a class to just one student; They are usually small groups of 4 to 6, so it would cost more than 50 dollars per hour of class. You can make a living from it there, as there are many people in need of the most rudimentary teachings. To give you an idea, I spent more time explaining the Portuguese language than English itself. People have no idea what a language is; they know how to “speak” Portuguese, but it is automatic; They never stopped to think about syntax, morphology, etc. I'm not talking about nomenclature, which is actually not important, but about the concept itself. Despite everything, I found the staff to be friendly, people who were very exploited on all sides. A large part of these people spend a base of US$10,000 (ten thousand dollars) to enter the US and spend two or more years paying this money. A horrible exploitation. They come through Mexico and many even die there, from bullets or thirst, as they have to cross a large desert. I heard every hair-raising story; the rest you read in the local press.
“To cut a long story short” I worked at this Kmart until the beginning of December 2000, when I was summarily “laid off” due to the company's spending cuts, as the new North American recession began “right there and then”. Wow, executives follow the financial market daily. Then I took a bus and went to Newark, but I didn't like what I saw. Firstly because it was very cold. Imagine on December 15th you going out to look for a job with snow and ice outside! Those who had to hire for Christmas (Xmas) had already done so and what's more, a recession was beginning. Furthermore, I went to live in a bad place (in a cellar with drugs and violence). I didn't think twice and left for Brazil. Furthermore, I didn't want to “explode” my visa.
In May 2001, I decided to return to Plymouth, MA once again and went to work at the local Sheraton Hotel. Heavy work, preparing halls for conventions, assembling tables and chairs, setting up tables, vacuuming the floor, etc. But it was interesting, because my coworker turned out to be a Brazilian Jew called Paulo Besser, who has lived in the U.S. since 1969. Paulo had a life that could write an adventure book: he was in the urban guerrilla against the Milicos in the late s '60 and fled to avoid being killed by Repression, having gone to Canada and then the US. Imagine he watched the original Woodstock. It was really cool to have worked with this guy; We worked and talked nonstop. Plus he's very musical too, he plays the guitar and everything. He likes Dylan, we even watched “Don’t look back” from 1966, on DVD (documentary about Bob Dylan & Joan Baez’s famous tour in England). He gave me a Canadian acoustic guitar that was a little defective, I had it fixed and it's wonderful. He has a nice house by the sea, he has a Mercedes, he has a latest fashion SUV (Sports Utility Vehical)... anyway, the guy has money, but he works like a bastard! I don't know why? People seem to go headlong into that American system of just working... I can't understand! Australians, despite being less rich, live much better than Americans. I can tell you from my own experience. There is something fundamentally wrong in the United States. I don't really know what it is! Instead of moving forward, they regress. See the death penalty has been re-instated. I just read in the English “The Economist” that the prison population in the USA is the largest in the world and is growing. Something is decidedly rotten in the “Kingdom of Denmark”, to paraphrase our “noble colleague” Billy Shakaspeare!
I could have stayed longer, but I didn't want to “explode” my stay, so I returned on July 10, 2001. Two months later the WTC's Twin Towers exploded. In 2002, I intended to return for the summer, but I thought about it and decided to “let my beards soak”. “Insurance died of old age”, as the old saying goes. Who can guarantee that I won't be stopped there and mistaken for an Arab and arrested incommunicado? When I was in Europe in 1991, Arab immigrants spoke to me in Arabic, so I came to the conclusion that I easily “pass for Arab”, which is not very “good for your health” in the United States these days. today, do you agree? It's interesting that the day I took the plane to come here I arrived at JFK very early... really early. I left Newark Penn Station a little after noon. I took the PATH to the WTC (can you imagine), because the A Train (8th Avenue Express) passes there... I even remembered that Duke Ellington song “Take the A Train”... a train that goes to Howard Beach/ JFK Airport. I had to board at 8:00 pm and I arrived for check-in at 3:00 pm.
I'm worse than a Miner. I wandered around the airport. It was a sunny summer day, but not too hot. Air pollution, which in NY can be horrible, was minimal. From Queens, where JFK is located, you could clearly see the island of Manhattan in the background. And I, sitting comfortably in an armchair, listening to local FM radio stations on a walk-man, looked at the “Manhattan skyline”, focusing on the city's two biggest landmarks: the World Trade Center towers in downtown and the Empire State Building in midtown. By then it was past 8pm and as our JAL plane, which was coming from Tokyo to São Paulo, was delayed, the passengers were still in the waiting room. I was enjoying it because I love watching sunsets, especially the very red ones... and looking at Manhattan, with the flaming sun in the West behind the Towers and the Empire State Building, was a very beautiful sight; I never imagined that this would be the last time I would see such a scene. On the morning of September 9, 2001, I was here at home when my brother, listening to the radio, said that a building in New York had “caught on fire”. I ran and called TV Globo and Carlos Nascimento was covering the “fire”; Soon after, the second plane crossed the 2nd tower... well, the rest doesn't need to be said.
Well, Damasio, I think I'll stop here, as this is already becoming a “short story”. I wanted to write to you to, firstly, find out how you, Francisca and the boys are doing, and secondly, so that you can write to me telling me facts relevant to your life at that time, as I intend to write more about our time as an immigrant in the 70s, as I am sure that It is a subject that interests Brazucas readers. You need to see how Carlos became interested in my stories. And look, he is already a “veteran”, imagine the others who arrived there in the 90s or even in the 21st century. Would you have the courage to write to me telling me about your adventures from that time? You don't need to use people's real names, if they are facts that involve living people. It seems like people really like to know about the old Brazilian Jersey Club. Did you attend this Club? Could you say something about him? You, if I'm not mistaken, even played football with them, right? The club's headquarters were on Ferry Street. Do you remember exactly where? I remember once I went with you to a place you lived, and it was a side street on Ferry Street down there, closest to Penn Station. Do you remember this street? You lived in a room there. Remember that going up the Ferry from the station there was Union St., Prospect St., Congress St., Jefferson St., Madison St., etc. It would be one of those.
Damasio, if you have Internet access, go to mapquest.com and type in Newark, NJ and you will have a photo map of the city! This way you can have an exact idea of the places you are looking for. I also always go to the “WABC music radio” website, which is cheap. It seems like we go back to the 60s and 70s in a second. If v. If you have a chance, come in and tell me later. Well, dear friend, I'll stay here, waiting for your response in the near future. Don't feel obligated to write about the past. Only write if you feel like it. But regardless, please say “hello” so I know all is well with you, and that you received my missive. My e-address is: mcarlus@hotmail.com
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