Day 116, Saturday July 13, 2024: Johnstown, New York to Albany, New York

Carnegie libraries visited: Gloversville and Amsterdam, New York

Days sober: 387

There are no parking meters on the town square in Johnstown. It does have a statue of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, a leader of the women's rights movement in the United States. The statue portrays Stanton reading a book, not one from the Carnegie library here, which opened in 1902, the year of Stanton’s death.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton and a Fan

The square holds a tiny bandstand. After I finished my group therapy session, which runs for an hour and a half every other week and which I attend by video from Goldfinger, I passed by the bandstand. The band Stretchin’ the Truth was warming up on the stage for a 7 pm concert, and a smattering of lawn chairs were gathered around. My head said “stay: local flavor” and my foot stayed on the gas pedal “go: generic strip mall multiplex.” I was looking forward to watching the opening night of “Fly Me to the Moon” (Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tutum), an old-fashioned “adult” movie with an uncertain audience during the summer blockbuster season. In fact, the audience was triple that of “Thelma” – a couple entered the theater just when the movie began, so I would not be watching the movie alone.

I loved the movie; I’m disappointed in my choice of watching it. It’s a movie, and I could watch it any day. To be in the right place at the right time to hear local music in the lengthening twilight….that’s good fortune. I should have listened to my head, not my foot.

In the days before, on many mornings I would wake up thirsty for a drink and not have one in the house. Poor planning. Balducci's, a high end grocery store, was a five minute walk from my home, and they sold wine at 7 am. It was so easy to walk over and pick up a bottle – the bin with the cheapest wine was often empty, so I knew I wasn’t the only one purchasing by price – and I would be home before anyone even noticed my absence. 

If I started drinking before breakfast, I would be done for the day; I wouldn’t stop. My MO was not to get shitfaced, it was to dose, to drink steadily and not too heavily so that I could keep it up throughout the day and still get stuff done. I didn’t drink on many days, sometimes not for weeks at a time, and – this might sound sort of obvious – not on those days I didn’t pick up a glass when many souls were hitting their snooze alarms. 

On the mornings when I thought “I want a drink...should I walk to Balducci's and buy a bottle?” I could follow my head (Are you fucking crazy? No, no, no. You know that if you do this you’ll be drinking all day. Don’t do it) or my feet (Go on. Let’s go.) Every time, and I mean every time, I had this inner monologue I followed my feet and not my head. It’s probably about a thousand steps to the store and so on every trip I had a thousand chances to change my mind, turn back, and stay sober. Those in recovery often say “It’s the first drink that gets you drunk.” This is not meant literally, of course, although it does remind me of a joke.

A guy walks into the bar, sits down, and says “Pour me a shot of whiskey.” 

The bartender does so. The guy shoves it away from him and quickly orders a double.

The bartender asks “Why are you ordering another round? You haven’t touched the first one yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve always heard that it’s the first one that gets you drunk, so I’m skipping that one.”

The idea is that, once the alcoholic takes the first drink, it’s never just the only one. The first leads to the second, and on. Another saying: “One drink is too many, and a thousand are never enough.” For me, the first step toward the store would be followed by the second, and then a thousand more. Once I took that first step, I never turned back.

I’m making up for last night by getting a strong local dose this morning. I came back to the square and sauntered in to Second Wind coffee. A vintage Suzuki motorcycle is in the front window, and two gigantic elks’ heads (12 and 14 points) are mounted on the walls as are signs for Vigortone livestock feed and old gasoline stations. Sean, the barista, rocks a wolf hipster haircut and beard, tattoo sleeves, and a black t-shirt. I’m also wearing a black tee; his sleeves are tighter because his guns are bigger. For the first hour that I was here, I was almost alone and I thought “How does Sean make any money here?” Now, mid-morning, the place is hopping. I hope Sean makes it.

I went back to Goldfinger to pick up my phone charger and noticed a tall woman wearing a long black dress, white bonnet, and a black hat on top of it. Suffragettes were famous for wearing white, although I’ve just learned that this did not become a symbol of the movement until after Stanton had passed away. Wondering if she was going to give some sort of Stanton tour, I approached her. She was taking selfies, so I cheerfully said “Hello. Would you like me to take your picture?”

She looked at me, scornfully I thought, and said: “No.” Now, it is not uncommon for me to ask people taking selfies whether they would like me to take their picture, and never before have I been rejected quite like this.

By the time I’m leaving, virtually everyone in the bar is dressed in black. Not hipsters, I think: they are either coming from or going to a funeral.

I’m meeting my high school and college friend Wayne in Albany later today. We’ve kept in touch over the years and I see him every so often. It’s his birthday, and I’m glad I reached out to him. He’s an avid bicyclist, and he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride when I got there, so I better get going. I’ve got work to do, and a YMCA to visit, before we meet at 3.

Gloversville Carnegie Library

The Gloversville Carnegie library was built in 1904 through a $50,000 grant by the industrial mogul. It was the town’s fourth library. In 1803 the Farmer’s Library was organized and why it died is unknown to me, although I doubt it was from a lack of farmers. The Young Ladies Library Association established its own in 1855. According to the current library’s history page, “Gentlemen were allowed to become honorary members by paying 25 cents a year. This enabled them to attend the monthly socials and escort the young ladies home.” The Young People’s Library absorbed the ladies’ association, “but because no trained librarian was on hand, old books wore out or disappeared, and few new ones were purchased.” The Levi Parsons Library, a subscription library made possible through a gift from Parsons, came next in 1880. Lacking enough dues paying  members, after eight years a public appeal was made and $4000 was raised, so the library was reincorporated as a free one. 

Once in Albany, I hit a coffee shop for a latte. A florist shop was next door, so being a gentleman I  was able to bring my hosts – Wayne, and his wife Pat Fahey, now a New York State Senator – a bouquet. Soon, Wayne and I were exploring the state capitol on two wheels (each).