Poet Gerard Kuc Visits the Chelsea

Gerard has sent us an excerpt from the last half of his novella, RED SEX, white drugs, Blue Rock n Roll, a fictionalized account of his trip to New York and his stay at the Hotel Chelsea. He has a tip for tourists: It's easier to score a room if you stay in the middle of the week.  He also had some advice for Stanely Bard: please sell a list of who slept where -- that is, of their room numbers.

What do you do?  civil servant

How long did you stay at the Chelsea? only spent one night; this was in early September of 2005

Why did you decide to stay at the Chelsea? When I've read about all who have lived and passed thru there, I knew I wanted to be a part of that in at least some small way.

How did you score your room? made sure to order for the middle of the week to better get a room; ordered a month in advance over their website

Do you think there is a creative energy in the Chelsea? I have no doubt there is an osmosis-like effect between the building, its history, and the current residents. The Chelsea is like a huge collage of life and livelihoods.

How did staying at the Chelsea affect your creative development? Helped me finish my novella! : )

What other creative people at the Chelsea or elsewhere have influenced your development? Bukowski

Who is the most famous person you’ve ever ridden with in the Chelsea elevator? the guy that showed me my room; I  always took the stairs after that to see all the art

What’s the best/worst thing that has ever happened to you at the Chelsea? my room wasnt ready when I got there; gave me time to see all the works in the lobby

Do you know if any famous folks have lived in your room? no- they should sell (or give) a key/directory of who stayed where at the front desk; that would be very popular.

Excerpt from RED SEX, white drugs, Blue Rock n Roll,

“What’s the good word?” the cabbie asked.

I told him to go to the hotel in Chelsea.

I thought the people in Los Angeles drove bad and reckless.  This guy was like the Road Warrior.  I tried to avoid looking straight in front of us during the trip.  Thankfully, the trip wasn’t too long, and I arrived at my hotel in one piece.  I paid and tipped the cabbie and went into the lobby.

The lobby was much smaller than I thought it would be.  There is an ornate fireplace and several large paintings hanging on the walls.  One of the resident artists was also here at the time of my check in: chair, stand, easel and all painting something.  I’ve heard that some of the artists give one of their works as payment for rent.  Somehow I didn’t think it also applied to writers.

I go to the front counter where two elderly but active gents were working.  Between them yaking at customers, the phone, other employees, and each other they were busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.   But they did managed to get to me eventually.  I checked in and followed an employee up to my room. 

From the outside it looked like this hotel should be on life-support, and from the inside you realized that it already was.  If it was any other hotel, it would be written off as a fleabag or a glorified flophouse.  But this was where Dylan Thomas lived till the night he died.  This was where Sid Vicious committed murder as part of an alleged suicide pact with his then girlfriend.  This was where Bob Dylan wrote a song, and where Jackson Pollock and William De Koonig made art.  It was the place for Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Dee Dee Ramone.  No, the hotel’s rich history and legends were its paint, plaster, and plumbing: holding it altogether.

The main interior reminded me of the Bradbury Building in downtown Los Angeles.  The white marble floors, rot-iron stairway, and ceiling-wide skylight were shared by both buildings, but there were lots of characteristics which were solely the hotel’s own.  Practically all of the halls had artwork on them. It was like staying at a museum.  Later, I noticed that the doors and doorways to the various rooms were all of different sizes.  Some of them were even painted and decorated by its inhabitants.

Each floor otherwise looked more or less the same: from the central staircase, a swinging door at either end which opened up to a main hallway with doors on either side then the sudden narrow hallway on either side which ended in a cloister of apartments or rooms.  Some of the doors would be ajar for ventilation.  On more than one occasion, I noticed the strong presence of   Maryjane at a wing of the 8^th floor.  When I first got to my room there was loud music playing just around my corner.  Through the crack I spied an artist working on the floor.  Perhaps he was working on paying this months rent.

I got to my room: # 402.  The first thing I noticed was, when I closed the door behind me, I could no longer hear the music.  The units, I was told, were very soundproof.  The ceilings were high, the floor wood, and the whole room of mine has been whitewashed.  An old fashioned radiator occupied a corner.  There was the bed, dresser, end table, small desk, clock radio, and a few old lamps.  There was also a TV and a mini-fridge: the latter of which I didn’t use.  There was also a separate bath in an art decco style and checkered tile.  One thing I further noticed was, in the halls and especially in my room, it smelled of musty cigarette smoke.  Maybe Bobby thought he’d surprise me.

My plan for New York was simple: go out and make the scene during the day and write at night.  After I unpacked, I got my desk set for making out like a foreign loan.  I didn’t waste even my first night as I sat down and started filling my notebook.  I made sure to introduce a Kelly character and certain things like what Gracie said that one time.  I must admit it was a very productive night.  The only drawback was, without a girlfriend around, I was self-employed in my ‘business’. I went to the bathroom, relieved myself, and went to bed.

One of the few modern conveniences in my room, a clock radio, woke me up to Cypress Hill’s  Valley of Chrome.  I already had an idea of what I was going to do throughout the day.  I got up, took a shower, and got dressed.  I took my small bag filled with pens, small notebooks, and a tour guide and split.