The Mavericks Pastry Caper

  It's funny how something seems like a really good idea when your Stoned and the next thing you know your handcuffed in the back of a New York city police car heading to the 109th precinct for the beginning of a long rather odious journey into the bowels of N.Y.C. night time justice, simply because you got the munchies.

So here's the story of the Great Mavericks Pastry Caper as well as I can remember you may find it entertaining. Hopefully I can give you an idea of Night-court back then it was almost surreal. Court was strange enough in the day at night it was a totally different animal, first you went to Brooklyn or the Tombs they were the only option at the time.

As I remember 4 of us were out and about that early Wednesday morning, Me, Joey V. Mike Pavonetti and Scar I’m not sure who decided we should leave the security of the park but we decided to go get some breakfast at Mavericks over on 164^th and Northern this was nothing new we went there quite often the food was good prices right and we were tolerated by the owners since we always had bread.

I don’t know what triggered our expulsion to the street perhaps we were just too stoned, we were defiantly sloppy smashed Joey V. kept nodding off into his eggs and Mike was in about the same condition. Scar and I were in the land of many colors and shapes as usual.

Next thing we wind up sitting on the curb staring across the street as the bakery truck pulls into the parking lot of the Bohaks grocery store to deliver the baked goods for the day the store is closed and empty at that hour so to our spaced out minds this was an act of God. We slowly come to the realization we will need something to drink to wash down our tray of doughnuts and rolls. We can’t go back in the diner but we can raid milk boxes for fresh milk. This all seemed fairly easy, but when your moving as if you’re on the planet Jupiter due to your mental state or lack there of it becomes almost comical

Totally amazed at our good fortune we each take care of the gathering of supplies for our morning repast we prepare for breakfast and give the fact we’re in full view of the world not a thought the next words we hear come from New Yorks’ finest something like Holy Shit check these assholes out,Your under arrest. Oh well all good things must come to an end time to visit the 109^th precint and start our trip around the Horn into the strange land of Night Court..   

Pound Ridge

It’s a beautiful fall evening when the night is filled with the music of Cream, Hendrix, Janis, and The Who all from the Eight Tracks rolling into the Reservation. For our idea of Peace and music.
First stop the Liquor store and buy all the Vino Duva we could just to be prepared. We drink some wine and smoke some Weed to decide who is going to face Mr. Ranger at the office to rent the three lean twos we need. Turns out it doesn't matter anyway since nobody is home. So we just set up at lean twos 10,11 and12 and figure we can just take care of all the legal crap in the morning, besides it’s time to chill out since the drugs we took leaving the city are really starting to take hold.
So who are we? We are a group of Flushing Queens drug crazed maniacs with knives, hatchets, axes, saws and machetes since we are camping in the country. These are things we need to get a good interface with nature it was almost a battle as if we were at war with the trees and brush.
How did this somewhat bizarre possibly dangerous group of like-minded young people arrive by vans, cars, trains even hitchhike for a weekend in the woods? A better description would be stone cold East coast Commie freaks.  We were not Hippies Yippies Flower or Love children we read The East Village Other not The Village Voice.
Another good question would be where did we come from, well for most of these Queens tales it’s that truly community land called the neighborhood park, for us it was Bowne Park it became the axis, home base and safety zone for the ones who didn’t fit in to the Great Society and Soaring Sixties.
We quietly took over the Park by osmosis only one force was potent enough to hold such a strange and diverse group together we loved to get stoned. We were Potheads, Acid heads, Glue heads, Speed freaks, Junkies, Down faces, Drunks. We were truly equal opportunity Dopers.
Our origins were from the poorest in College Point to the most upscale in Whitestone and Malba. Why such a large and strange group of freaks would occupy a four square block park is unknown. However it was definitely our space and would be defended viciously if threatened.
This was not a gang we had no leaders it was Anarchy you did what you did and became part of the whole. There was a hierarchy of sorts based on experience with the most experienced users at the top, the type of substance was not relevant, glue and Carbona was taken as seriously as LSD or Heroin. Therefore the Guru of Glue received the same respect as the Oldest standing Junkie or Wisest Acid head.
The physical layout of the park had a great deal to do with interactions between the different groups of users, the 155 street side had the pond and the hill, while the 159 street side had the brick park house the Half court a working fountain for the Junkies even bathrooms. This was also the drive in one stop drug store with assorted dealers on duty 24-7 to tend to all your needs and wants.
Now when the Parkers went upstate to commune with nature once again a hierarchy of sorts would form again, acidheads Lean to # 3 farthest away, Lean to # 6 Down freaks (not far enough) The rest would take 10 11 and12 grouped in a semicircle on a nice hill, with extra picnic tables at the bottom, now the Junkies didn’t use a Lean to they brought tents and got the farthest away of all, although at night they were easy to spot since they kept a huge fire going in order to see, don’t want to be poking away blind.
I must admit it was fun being such a tremendous thorn in the side of the State Police and we truly loved every minute it was 1969 a very good year!