by Rick Goeld
“Among the best? Yes, I would say they are among the best. Under-appreciated by most people.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
“Under-appreciated?”
Eddie smiled. “Precisely!”
Sterling drained the last drops of whiskey from his glass. “You know, they never did much to appeal to a broad fan base. They never toured when they were popular.”
“I know.”
The waiter arrived with another whiskey and a fresh bottle of Chardonnay. Sheila poured the wine. Sterling sipped his whiskey, smiled, and then took a generous swallow. Eddie wondered how many drinks Sterling had consumed today.
Another thought popped into Sterling’s head. “There was a book written about Steely Dan a few years back. Have you seen it?”
“The one by Brian Sweet? Yes, I’ve read it cover to cover.”
“Nice fellow, Sweet. An Englishman, you know.”
Eddie glanced at Lois, who seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.
Sterling continued, “Mr. Fagen and Mr. Becker value their privacy, you know. That’s why it’s so hard to get their autographs.”
“Have you ever met them?”
“Once or twice. Yes, twice, I think. Nice fellows. Dry sense of humor. Not your typical rock stars.” Sterling took another gulp of whiskey. “Lois mentioned that you were parading in front of Mr. Fagen’s apartment building.”
“Yes, and near their studio, River Sound.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get Mr. Fagen’s address?”
“A friend of a friend lives in the same building.”
“Really? How do you know?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. I never got a chance to verify it.”
“Well, old chap, I guess I should tell you that these kinds of people—celebrities, as we say in the trade—are very good at covering their tracks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Diversions. Decoy addresses. Things like that. The address you identified may or may not be a place Mr. Fagen actually lives.” Sterling’s eyes shone.
Eddie thought for a minute. “I hear what you’re saying.”
“You were better off parading in front of their studio.”
“Uh, huh . . .”
“But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not recording right now. They just released an album, remember?”
“So where would they be?”
“Think about it, young man. You’re a journalist; at least that’s what Ms. Smith told me.” He winked at Lois and downed the last of his whiskey.
“I guess they’d be out promoting their new album?” Eddie saw that Sterling was getting a little bleary-eyed.
“Precisely, dear boy! Although Mr. Fagen and Mr. Becker don’t do what you would call ‘public appearances.’ I believe they’d have a good laugh if people began to queue for their autographs.”
Queue? “I guess you’re right.”
“And they’d be preparing for their tour right now, don’t you think?”
“There’s been no announcement of a tour—”
“There will be, shortly. And check out next week’s magazine. We’re running a modest article about The Dark Brothers.” Sterling began to lean uncertainly toward the window.
“Fagen and Becker?”
“Precisely!” Sterling straightened himself up and raised his empty glass, hoping that Sheila might order one more round.
But Sheila was having none of it. She tapped her watch. “Mr. Sterling, you’ve got another meeting. We’ve got to go.”
“Ah, Sheila,” Sterling beamed at her, “the mother I never had.”
Sheila stood and handed him his overcoat. “Mr. Sterling, I’m sure you had a mother.” She winked at Eddie. They quickly said their good-byes, and Sheila guided the unsteady Mr. Sterling toward the door.
28
“Well, that was an experience,” Lois said as she closed her notepad, dropped it in her handbag, and signaled for the check. “What do you think of Bernard Sterling?”
“A character,” Eddie replied. “He seems to know his stuff, though. I like him.”
“Loves his Jack Daniels, doesn’t he?”
“That he does.”
The waiter presented the check, which Lois perused and covered with a credit card. They sipped the last of the wine as they waited. Eddie checked his watch—almost five-thirty—and scanned the room. The place was starting to fill up … Seconds later, the waiter returned, and Lois signed the check and prepared to leave.
“Going back to work?” he asked.
“No, I’ve got plenty of time. I thought I’d get a bite to eat and start working on the article.”
He started to speak, then stopped, and then blurted out: “Do you mind if I join you?” surprising himself as much as it did Lois. He quickly qualified his statement, adding, “I mean, I skipped lunch. I wanted to get an early dinner, too.”
Lois, looking uncertain, sized him up, and finally said, “Well, why not? A business dinner, right?”
“Right,” he replied, relieved.
They put on their overcoats and stepped out onto the sidewalk, which was slick from the drizzling rain that had started to fall.
“Did you have any particular place in mind?” He scanned the streets for a taxi.
“Yeah,” she replied, “that place right over there.” She nodded toward a small restaurant just across the street.
A minute later they walked into Friend of a Farmer, a restaurant that was dedicated, according to the sign, to serving “good, fresh things every day of the week.” Predictably, the interior was decorated just like a farmhouse. It was still too early for the dinner crowd, and they were seated immediately, in the front room, their rough-finished wooden table overlooking a street scene framed by bare branches. Nat King Cole crooned softly in the background.
Eddie settled into the wooden chair. “Feels like a ‘ladies lunch’ kind of place.”
“It is,” Lois replied, arranging her pen and notepad on the table. “You should see the lines here on the weekends.”
“Hmm.” He glanced out the window. “Nice view.”
“Yeah. If that parking meter were a hitching post, it would be perfect.”
“Well, we can’t have everything.” He scanned the menu. “What’s good?”
“Try the chicken pot pie. It’s huge, and it’s excellent. You look like a chicken pot pie kind of person.”
“Which means?” He smiled at her.
“I’ll bet you like your basic meat and potatoes, spaghetti and meatballs—”
“Chinese … Indian . . .”
“You ever eat a lobster?”
“No, but I’ve eaten lots of shrimp.”
“Eddie Zittner—full of surprises.” She scribbled something in her notepad.
The waiter, a Latino who looked uncomfortable wearing a checkered apron, took their order. Eddie went with the chicken pot pie. Lois ordered something called ‘country pie’ with a side salad.
“So, Eddie, other than shrimp and Steely Dan, what kind of things interest you?”
“Writing. I majored in journalism at Rutgers.”
“You already told me that. Yet, you’re not a working journalist.”
“No.” Even though my wife has encouraged me to try it, at least a thousand times. “No, I’ve focused more on writing fiction.”
“What kind of fiction?”
“Short stories. Even tried to write a novel, once.”
“No kidding. Ever sell anything?”
“No, but I do have a file full of rejection slips.”
“I have a few of those, too.”
“What did you major in?”
“Journalism, just like you. I went to City College.”
“And you’re a working journalist. Congratulations.” He lifted his glass of ice water.
“Thank you.” She clicked his glass with hers.
> The food arrived. The chicken pot pie was enormous, served in a dish that was, Eddie guessed, three inches deep, maybe more. The top was crisscrossed with golden-brown strips of pastry. The country pie Lois had ordered was a generous wedge of what looked like the same pastry, oozing with cheese and vegetables. He gave her a ‘how am I going to eat this thing?’ look, and she replied with a smiling “Try it.” He dug into the pot pie, which was filled with chunks of chicken and vegetables swimming in a thick, creamy sauce.
“Mmm … delicious,” he said, burning his lips on the first bite.
“I told you so.” She raised her fork and blew lightly onto a piece of the country pie, trying to cool it off. “Sometimes I wish I were a food critic,” she said, popping it into her mouth.
Eddie occupied himself with his dinner, alternating mouthfuls of pot pie with sips of water. He used a spoon to break off pieces of pastry and mix them into the sauce. Halfway through, he took a break and looked up. “How’s yours?” he asked.
“Just the way my mother made it. Wonderful crust.”
“You don’t look like you grew up on a farm.”
She frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” he said, raising his arms in surrender. “You just give me the impression that you’re one-hundred-percent New Yorker.”
“Well, I am. But my mother could cook a mean country pie, although she didn’t call it that.”
“Tell me about your parents.”
“My parents?” She leaned back. “The odd couple. My mother is a Hungarian Jew—I know, I don’t look Jewish—with some Italian mixed in. My father is plain ordinary WASP; Swedish if you go back far enough. They’re both ultra-liberal, from the ‘flower children’ days. It was love at first sight. I love them, but they drive me crazy. How about yours?”
“Mine? I guess I’d say the same thing: I love them both, but they drive me crazy—my mother, anyway. They’re typical New Jersey suburban Jewish parents. My great, great grandparents are from the old country.” Giving up on the pot pie, he pushed his plate away.
“Which old country?”
“Russia, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria; somewhere in there. Borders weren’t too clear back then.”
A busboy cleared the table. A minute later the waiter came by and poured cups of coffee. Lois thumbed through her notepad. “Let’s see if I have this straight now: you like rock and roll—Steely Dan, specifically—marching on the sidewalk, writing fiction, chicken pot pie … and shrimp. Did I miss anything?”
“Well, I read a lot.”
“Most writers do. What kind of books?”
“Mysteries. Science Fiction. Contemporary novels. And movies—I love old movies.”
“Let’s see . . .” She tapped her cheek. “I figure you for something like Caddyshack.”
“Unbelieveable.”
“The Godfather.”
“Terrific.”
“Alien.”
“Loved it.”
“Animal House.”
“A classic!”
She grinned broadly. “I confess, I’m a movie nut, too.”
“Let me guess.” He thought for a few seconds. “You’re probably some kind of romantic … am I right?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll bet your favorite movie is … Sleepless in Seattle?”
She shook her head. “Too sappy, even for me.”
“How about … Tootsie?”
“No, but I love Dustin Hoffman. Actually my favorite movie is Kramer vs Kramer. It’s got a hard edge to it.”
The waiter refilled their coffee cups and dropped the check on the table. Eddie decided to take another leap into space. “The Academy Awards are this weekend. Would you, you know, like to watch it together?”
“You mean, like a date?” Her eyes narrowed, and an unspoken ‘what would your wife say’ came through loud and clear.
He backtracked. “No, not like a real date. My brother’s out of town this weekend. We can watch at his place. That’s where I’ve been staying.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Me? I’m harmless.” He flashed the most innocent smile he could manage.
“I think you told me that before.”
“No, seriously, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I’ll even buy dinner—I know a good Chinese place. You know, noodles, egg rolls, the works.”
“Shrimp?”
“Shrimp, of course.”
“I don’t know. What with you getting arrested—”
Now she was pulling his chain … “But we’re having dinner together now.” He grinned.
“Yes, but in a public place.”
“Come on . . .” Turn on the charm, Eddie … “I can give you references . . .”
She laughed. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Then you’ll come? My brother’s got a fantastic apartment. ‘East River View,’ as they say.”
“No kidding. Where is it?”
“Third Avenue and 32nd Street. His apartment is on the 28th floor.”
“Mmm, that sounds elegant. Is he rich?”
“He makes a good living.”
She sipped the last of her coffee. “Okay, I’ll come. But any funny business?” She waved her fist at him.
He grinned. “As a show of good faith, I’ll pay for dinner.”
“No thanks—journalistic integrity, remember?” She dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table. “I’ll split it with you.” She stood and picked up her handbag and overcoat.
“What’s your hurry?”
“I’ve got to get back to the office and get this article filed.”
“What about Sunday?”
“The article will be in tomorrow’s paper. Call me after that. You can give me directions.”
29
Thursday, March 23, 2000
Steely Dan, Where Are You?
Exclusive
By Lois Lane Smith
Why is Eddie Zittner, a self-described “ordinary guy” from New Jersey, trying to meet and obtain the autographs of two of rock’s most reclusive stars?
Last week, The Post first reported on Zittner’s Quixote-like quest to meet Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, founding members of the rock group Steely Dan. Then, earlier this week, The Post reported Zittner’s arrest on the sidewalks of the Upper East Side, the victim of a misunderstanding with the NYPD. A charge of disturbing the peace was quickly dropped, and Zittner was released the same day.
In an effort to understand his motivation, The Post arranged an exclusive interview with Zittner yesterday afternoon. Joining us was Bernard “Nardo” Sterling, Editor-at-Large with Rolling Stone magazine, and an expert on Steely Dan.
“It’s been frustrating,” Zittner said as we spoke at Pete’s Tavern in Gramercy Park. “Not being able to obtain their autographs, or find any memorabilia … I guess that’s what drove me to demonstrate on the sidewalk.”
But what is it about Steely Dan and their music that creates such passion and loyalty in Zittner and the rest of their fan base?
“Their songs are unique,” Sterling told The Post. “It’s a combination of extraordinary music, and lyrics laced with dark humor and sometimes ‘vague’ symbolism.”
Steely Dan was formed in 1971 by Fagen, Becker, and a handful of other musicians. They had immediate success with their 1972 album Can’t Buy A Thrill, which included their first hit single, “Do It Again.” Zittner describes the song as having a “shimmering” quality unlike anything else he has heard. Steely Dan did some touring in the early 1970s, but life on the road wasn’t for them. By mid-1974 they had stopped touring—becoming a so-called “studio band”—and over time, other members left, leaving Fagen and Becker as the remaining core of “The Dan.” They continued producing hit albums, using the best session players they could hire, but always keeping control of the final product.
“Fagen and Becker have always been the intellect and driving force behind the band,” Sterling said.
In 1980
, they released their seventh album, Gaucho, and then disbanded, although Fagen and Becker collaborated on each other’s solo efforts in later years. In the early 1990s, Fagen and Becker reformed the group using new musicians, and toured the United States, Europe, and Asia, performing mostly old material. Fans would have to wait a long time—almost twenty years—for their new album, Two Against Nature, which was released earlier this year.
“Steely Dan is among the best rock groups of all time,” Sterling said. “They have an extremely loyal fan base, but, by and large, they are under-appreciated.” Sterling, who over the years has become acquainted with Fagen and Becker, described them as nice fellows with a dry sense of humor. “Not your typical rock stars,” he added.
Zittner, 29, is the oldest son of—as he describes them—typical New Jersey suburban Jewish parents. A journalism major at Rutgers, so far he has focused on writing fiction. In addition to rock and roll, Zittner is a fan of mystery novels, movies, and Chinese food. He is separated from his wife and living temporarily in Manhattan.
“I’m a law-abiding citizen,” Zittner said, noting that he had never been arrested before this week’s incident. “I don’t plan to do any more demonstrating. But I would love to meet Fagen and Becker, just to shake their hands, get their autographs, and thank them for their excellent music.”
A modest request? Steely Dan, if you’re out there, you can get in touch with Mr. Zittner by contacting this reporter.
*****
Eddie heard the steady beep of the alarm clock, looked up, saw the thing flashing “8:30 AM” at him, and hit the snooze button, buying himself ten minutes of sleep time. A minute later, his mind clearing, he jumped out of bed, eager to get downstairs to buy a newspaper.
By nine-thirty, he had shaved, showered, dressed, locked the apartment, gone downstairs, and purchased a copy of The Post. Oblivious to a beautiful spring morning, he read the article as he walked to the Dunkin’ Donuts on Second Avenue and 33rd Street.
He read the article a second and third time as he inhaled glazed donuts and washed them down with coffee. It appeared to him that Lois had done her research, having accurately outlined the history of “The Dan.” The article had included his plea to Fagen and Becker, and he personally seemed to come across as law-abiding, sincere, and intelligent. Nice job, Lois.
