Unfortunately, no one’s interested in raping me. I’m not young or pretty enough. I’ll have to think of another way out of this joint.
New Year’s Day, 1974
Funzi and Gus sitting today on a bench in front of Hartford House in the cold winter sunlight, reminiscing about the old days with the mob in New York — “the night Fast Eddie got snuffed at the delicatessen on Delancey Street, remember, Gus?” And me sitting there, quietly, hardly daring to ask a question, listening open-mouthed and big-eyed like a little kid. The mob! It exists! I know them.
January 3, 1974
I woke up this morning with a half inch of snow on my blanket and my hair soaking wet. Didn’t even feel it start during the night. It’s been so hot in here, despite the so-called energy crisis, that I gasp for air sometimes at night. Because of the oil shortage it was forbidden to open our windows — an automatic shot, which I can ill afford. But last night it was too much and around midnight I flung open the window and thought, fuck it. I’m dying of heat in January! Then it snowed on my head, maybe as punishment. I’m sneezing.
Later: the judge in New Haven has accepted my writ and ordered the government to show cause by Monday, January 7th. I don’t know if this is merely a formality, but it’s certainly better than a kick in the ass.
January 4, 1974
Someone shook me awake this morning at 7:45 and said I was wanted on the double in the caseworker’s office. Grumbling, I dressed and walked over through the snow — a cold, bright blue morning. Lefebvre and Edwards were waiting for me. They both looked unhappy. Lefebvre said, without a trace of expression, “You’ve applied for admission to the Halfway House in Manhattan, Mr. Irving. The Bureau of Prisons has advised us late last night that they’ve reversed their negative decision and decided to authorize your transfer.”
I think I asked him, “When?” and he said, “Today. Now. You’d better hurry. There’s a bus leaves at 9:30 this morning for New York. Get your things together, sign out, and go.”
So that’s how it works. They’ve thrown me out. Get out, Irving, you fuckup, you troublemaker! I ran over to tell Riley at the infirmary. I had to yell up to the window which he couldn’t open more than a crack and which was frosted over. He yelled back, “Don’t forget!”
I’m sitting now at the bus station in downtown Danbury. I’ve got my clothes, books and papers in two cartons tied with string. I’m wearing my navy peajacket and a green sport coat underneath that’s one size too small for me, and shiny brown pants that barely reach my ankles, and my Leavenworth boots. They’re good for the snow. I’ve called Maury in New York to tell him, and to ask him to cable to Spain and get my kids over here. He couldn’t believe it at first — I think for a minute he thought I’d escaped. “I won, Maury,” I yelled into the bus station pay phone, so that a lot of heads turned. “I won forty one days of freedom. You don’t know what that means. I’ll meet you at P.J. Clarke’s for lunch. Bring money.”
The sun is almost blinding, blazing off the snow. I walk around, waiting for the bus, taking deep breaths of the cold air.
Now I’m on the bus. Last entry in this journal. The bare trees, the highway, the cars with patches of snow on their roofs, the world rushing by, look like a cinemascope movie. I feel like I’m in that movie, clutching my cartons and my release papers, dressed like a goon. I’m going to check into the Halfway House. They give you the first weekend off, I know that. I’m going to have a beer and a medium-rare cheeseburger at P.J.’s. Then I’m going for a long walk, alone, through the snow in Central Park. Then maybe down Fifth Avenue. Tonight I’m taking Mary to Broadway Joe’s Steak House on 46th Street for dry martinis, oysters, a bottle of burgundy, a baked potato, a rare sirloin steak and cheesecake. I’m going to ask her to wear her red cotton dress without a bra, and after dinner I’m going to find a tent somewhere and crawl under it with her.
***
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You may also enjoy (Links): The Autobiography of Howard Hughes, Fake!, Final Argument, Trial, DADDY’S GIRL, THE SPRING, or one of the books below...
Also by
CLIFFORD IRVING
(* Links to Kindle books)
NOVELS
On a Darkling Plain
The Losers
* Diablo Valley
The 38th Floor
* THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF HOWARD HUGHES
Death Freak (co-author)
Sleeping Spy (co-author)
* Tom Mix and Pancho Villa
* THE ANGEL OF ZIN
* Trial
* Final Argument
* THE SPRING
* I Remember Amnesia
* Bloomberg Discovers America
NON-FICTION
The Battle of Jerusalem
Spy (co-author)
* FAKE!
The Global Village Idiot
The Hoax
* DADDY’S GIRL
* JAILING
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Table of Contents
August 28, 1972
August 29
August 30
September 3
September 5
September 7
September 10
September 14
September 15
September 18
September 24
October 1
October 5
October 7
October 9
October 18
November 4
November 5
November 15
November 16
November 20
Thanksgiving Day
November 29
December 6
December 9
December 14
December 19
December 22
Christmas Day
January 3, 1973
January 10
January 17
January 22
January 30
February 3
February 16
March 5
PART TWO March 10, 1973
March 12
March 28
March 31
April 10
April 18
April 19
May 2
May 9
May 12
May 19
May 22
June 7
July 16
July 31
August 7
August 11
August 12
August 19
August 20
August 28
September 13
October 2
October 4
October 12
October 22
November 14
November 29
December 3
December 13
December 14
December 15
December 18
Christmas Day
December 30
New Year’s Day, 1974
January 3, 1974
January 4, 1974
Also by CLIFFORD IRVING
See CliffordIrving.com
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Jailing Page 8
