Well before radio waves made their way through our eardrums and into our hearts, jingling and jangling happily ever after, ads were barely noticed. This is also prior to the ascendancy of television, when the little people on the screen yelled at us, demanding we accept our purchasing power and buy a new dishwasher or toilet seat. Ads couldn’t yell at first. They could hardly say a thing. But they were there. They were everywhere. Mostly though, advertisements were painted on exterior building walls. Then repainted again and again for a princely sum. Not a bad gig, for a wall, if you could get it. Painted Brick Wall, a painted brick wall on the corner of 18th Street and Broadway, spent most of the first half of the twentieth century selling something. Bri, as he goes by now, has been retired for a few years, living in constant fear of demolition. Thankfully, New York City has some of the best historic preservation ordinances in the country. I walked by him a few days ago and this is the transcript of our brief, though extremely fruitful conversation.
MTP: Hello wall. May I call you Bri?
A wind gust sent a piece of paint flying off the building, falling many stories to the ground below.
MTP: You’re chipping badly, if you don’t mind me saying so. I wouldn’t want to presume. We're not friends - yet.
PBW: …
MTP: Is there a direction I should speak towards? I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking at.
PBW: …
MTP: Okay then. I aim towards the foundation. Have you thought about seeing someone professionally about the damage? I know a few good contractors. They’d be more than happy to help.
PBW: …
MTP: No, it’s not free. I can still get you a good deal though.
PBW: …
MTP: You’re practically falling apart. I would get someone over here ASAP.
PBW: …
MTP: No, that’s not why I came here.
PBW: …
MTP: I’m getting to it. Slow down, will ya? Sheesh.
PBW: …
MTP: There’s no reason to get an attitude.
PBW: …
MTP: Great, let’s get started. In going over your career, I noticed how you’ve been a part of every major industry since about 1910. You promoted vaudevillians, silent movie stars, prop comics, vacuum cleaners, and an annual holiday buffet held at the Waldorf. Care to comment? How did you handle potential conflicts of interest? A thick border?
PBW: …
MTP: I bet you were glad you weren’t made of wood, huh? Fires, who needs 'em?
PBW: …
MTP: I get it. You not much for dwelling on the past. So why don’t we talk about the future for a change.
It was then that I heard the mistakable sound of trickling liquid. Why? A man of indeterminate age was relieving himself on the side of Bri.
MTP: Excuse me, what are you doing? That’s my interview subject you’re so rudely interrupting.
Jake: Huh?
MTP: Do you mind? I’m conducting business here.
Jake: Me too. How about a little privacy?
MTP: Look, pal, zip up and ship out. Capeesh?
Jake finished as quickly as possible and sprinted off the lot. However, I couldn’t manage to get the stream of conversation flowing again. Another time, perhaps. Outside of a wrecking ball, Bri isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment