Читать книгу Confessions of a New York Taxi Driver - Eugene Salomon - Страница 28

On two occasions I have been honored to transport the derriere of the great Paul Simon in my taxicab. The composer of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, ‘Mrs, Robinson’, ‘The Boxer’ and so many other wonderful songs, Paul Simon is someone who I can truly say has enriched my life through his music. It can be a little overwhelming, however, to meet someone in person whom you have admired for so long. What do you say to a living legend? What, when you find yourself suddenly face to face with such a larger-than-life character, do you talk about?

Why, baseball, of course.

I was heading uptown on Central Park West on a lovely day in June, 1983, looking for my next passenger, when I spotted him standing there with a doorman on the opposite side of the street. They both had an ‘I want a cab’ expression on their faces which I took as my cue to make one of those sweeping U-turns that taxis in New York City are famous for. Taking care not to run over my favorite songwriter and thus bring to an end the long series of Simon and Garfunkel reunions, I pulled my cab around to where they were standing, and Paul got in.

He wanted to go to the East Side, so we headed through Central Park in that direction. I noticed Paul was wearing an unusual baseball cap with an insignia on it that I didn’t recognize so, seeking an entrance point from which to start a conversation, I asked him what his hat was all about. He told me it was a hat from a Japanese baseball team, that he’d ‘played a stadium over there’, and that the hat was a souvenir. I asked him jokingly which position he had played and, matching the spirit of my question, Paul replied that he’d played ‘guitar’.

I noticed that we had found some common ground upon which to communicate and that there was some rapport between us, so I decided to steer the discussion to an area of fertile soil when baseball is the subject of conversation in New York – the Yankees. I had heard or read somewhere that Paul was a Yankee fan, which might be expected of the person who wrote the line, ‘Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?’, and I was not wrong.

As our chat about the Yankees got going, I could see that Paul was emotionally involved with the franchise and its meaning to New York. He spoke knowledgeably about the players and the problems the organization was having. And he had nothing positive to say about George Steinbrenner, the owner of the team, or Billy Martin, who was in one of his many incarnations as the Yankee manager at the time, even going so far as saying that the two of them were not only bad for baseball, but bad for New York City as well.

I was quite impressed by the passion with which he spoke. It was obvious that baseball in general and the Yankees in particular were things that were important to him. So involved had Paul become in our discussion of the subject, in fact, that he stayed on in my cab for a minute after we reached his destination in order to wrap up the conversation – a great honor, from my point of view. Once he finally did leave I was left with the impression that in Paul’s world the travails of Julio down by the schoolyard and Cecilia up in his bedroom were of no more importance than the slings and arrows of Willie Randolph at second and Dave Winfield in right.

The memory of our conversation stayed with me for some time. I found myself wondering, whenever George or Billy would make the news with some new blunder, what Paul would have said about it. He had become for me the conscience of the Yankees. And then one day, out of nowhere, an idea hit me with the impact of a Goose Gossage fastball: Paul Simon would make the perfect owner of the New York Yankees. A native New Yorker, a lifelong Yankee fan, an important contributor to the legacy of the team through his music, a caring, intelligent and disciplined person, and the possessor of some serious wealth – somehow it all just fit. Yes! Paul Simon, the one man who could rescue our Yankees from the tyranny of the wicked King George. I decided that if fate ever put Paul back in my cab, I would do my best to sell him on the idea.

As it turned out, fate was kind.

On an unusually frigid day in late November, 1984 – just a few weeks after the conclusion of yet another dismal baseball season for the Yankees – I again spotted Paul standing with his doorman at the same building on Central Park West. Once again I made an outrageous turn to get to him and, after refreshing his memory about our previous conversation, I wasted no time in getting to the matter at hand. I told him I had an idea that he’d probably think was crazy at first, but I wanted him to at least take a look at it. And then I laid it on him.

‘I want you to buy the Yankees,’ I said.

It certainly took him by surprise.

‘Me? You want me to buy the Yankees?’ he said incredulously.

I told him it wasn’t as crazy as it sounds. A lot of things happen that seem bizarre until we get used to them. I told him he had some pretty good qualifications, having written that line about Joe DiMaggio, and being a native New Yorker, and all. I could see he was softening up on the idea. He started tossing the concept around in his mind. But he hit a snag right away.

‘I don’t have that kind of money,’ he said. ‘You should talk to McCartney.’

I took this as a minor stumbling block that any salesman would encounter en route to closing a deal. All I had to do was show my client that where there’s a will there’s a way. I asked him what he thought the team was worth. After giving it some thought he guessed that ninety or a hundred million dollars would do the trick. Arriving at this figure, however, was not something that helped my cause. But then I realized that what he’d given me was in sales parlance just an ‘illegitimate excuse’. Now it was my job to strip away all the illegitimate excuses until we came to what the real objection was, if, in fact, there was one. So I suggested setting up a consortium of investors with Paul as the principal owner.

‘What about Billy Joel?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yeah, he’s a big Yankee fan!’ Paul replied with genuine enthusiasm.

Now we were getting somewhere – the seed had been planted and was starting to grow. I could see in my mind the same image that I was sure was in Paul’s: a large conference room in Yankee Stadium, Paul sitting at the head of the table, Billy Joel at his side, and about twenty seats filled with rock singers and movie stars. A big decision had to be made: should Tommy John be offered a new contract even though he’s forty-one years old?

But Paul raised a new objection. He began talking, quite sincerely, about his basic purpose line. He’d always wanted to be a rock singer, he said, and that’s what he had dedicated himself to and had become. He told me that there had been times when he had considered doing things that would have been divergences from his purpose line, but they never came to anything, and that his steadfastness to his purpose was one of the reasons for his success. Although owning the Yankees sounded intriguing, it would ultimately be something that would take him away from his work.

As a salesman I had to consider this statement, convincing as it might sound, as just another illegitimate excuse and I went to work at chopping it down. My objective was to show Paul how owning the Yankees would actually enhance his basic purpose. I pointed out that buying the franchise would give him access to Yankee Stadium as a concert arena. He could book concerts, including himself as a solo artist and himself with Garfunkel, on dates when the Yankees were unlikely to draw large crowds. This concept seemed to sit well with him as he immediately started looking at what might stand in the way of his acquiring the team.

‘I don’t think George would ever sell,’ he said.

Now here, I had to admit, we had a formidable, perhaps even insurmountable, obstacle. What if it wasn’t a matter of money? What if the team simply wasn’t for sale at any price? It seemed that the only possibility of overcoming this barrier would be to solve the mystery of what it is that makes George tick. We went to work at it.

Why, we wondered, would George Steinbrenner want to be the owner of a baseball team, anyway? Was it because he loved baseball? Possibly, but we didn’t think so. Was it for the money? Again, this was possible but, knowing as much as we’ve all come to know about George, it didn’t seem to ring true that money would be his real motivation. What was concluded, after some discussion, was that George is a person who needs recognition and approval in a big way.

Now there could be various ways of achieving recognition and approval. Certainly one way was to become famous and loved as the owner of a baseball team. But there could be other ways, too… like performing in front of thousands of people and singing lively songs while a band plays behind you.

So there it was, the solution to the problem! Paul would put together a group of investors, the matter of the money would be resolved, and everyone would get what they want: Paul – the Yankees. George – well, first George will get training for his new career. Voice control, stage presence, a new wardrobe. And then, before you know it, the world will be enamored of, astonished by and delirious for the harmonies created by George and his new partner.

The group will be called Simon and Steinbrenner. Sorry, Art.

We had arrived at Paul’s destination, the Brill Building on Broadway and 49^th. There was still one detail he had some attention on – the matter of contacting George, conducting the negotiations and closing the sale. It was something he didn’t particularly want to get involved in until it was really necessary. So Paul decided to offer me a deal.

‘Tell you what,’ he said as he started to step out of my cab into the freezing afternoon air, ‘if you can get George to sign the papers, I’ll give you a percentage.’

And with that he smiled, waved goodbye, and went on his way.

I drove less than a block down Broadway, already doing the math in my head of what a percentage would bring me, when my next passenger, a middle-aged woman, hailed me from the frozen street and jumped in. She sat in the same spot in back where Paul Simon had just been sitting.

‘Hey, you know who I just had in my cab?’ I said to her… ‘Paul Simon!’

‘You did?’ she said in amazement. She then started moving her body back and forth against the seat. ‘You mean I’m sitting in Paul Simon’s warmth?!’