Harold T.F. Martin, Esquire - Landlord, 328 Club

The 328 Club landlord was a scuzy, past his prime, lawyer with a reputation of being a slumlord. His office was in the 100 or maybe the 200 block of East King (approximately 5 or 6 blocks from the property that I - and the gang - was eyeing.) I might have been alone or perhaps City L (Tim Getzloff) was with me. I/we were greeted by an elderly women, ostensibly the secretary, who escorted me/us into a cluttered office full of books, papers, files, papers, books, files and dust. After a few moments a bespeckled 'younger than her but more than twice my 23 years' man entered the room and sat behind his mess at his desk. He was eying me/us up and i/we were doing the same. After an exchange of pleasantries, a few questions from him, a few assurances sought by us, he presented a lease which I/we promptly signed. I do not recall the amount but my guess would be $200 per month. I don't remember what I paid that day but my guess would be $400 including security deposit. I would only see him and pay him one more time in the year that I was his tenant.

As I said earlier, me, Sil Simpson, Danny Joyce, and the two Tims - Getzloff & Lutter - moved into the 328 Club and immediately proceeded to have the time of our lives. Splitting rent, utilities, and the like five ways made for some extra cash even at a substitute teacher's pay rate ($39 per day). The fact that the place was a dump didn't effect our love for the freedom but it certainly made it difficult to walk the rent check those six blocks down King Street. So ... we didn't.

We didn't in September; we didn't in October; we didn't in November. We were having a great time. Beer. Women within reach (but, in my case, not conquered) and good clean fun. The 328 Club was always an adventure. With five of us in the house all drawing some sort of income - even City L who was still a student - but not in a career path or too far down a career path there was always someone to go for a beer.

We had a dog - Champ; a black lab/shepherd and a cat - Hoppity Hooper and, despite our noisy habits, great neighbors a man and his 85 year old mom. Bars, corner stores, movie houses, cars, the rents only three miles away for washing clothes and a meal in a pinch, it was great and then ...

One night when what seems in my memory all of us were sitting around the vent in the living room floor on a late fall night all of suddent in our midst, like the Lord in the upper room, was Harold "the fuck' Martin, our landlord. Bummer, bummer.

Mr. Martin was calm but wanted his rent check. We discussed things. The lack of a bannister on the stairway. It was an obvious code violation so we both had cards to play. Especially after Mr. Martin realized that Sil's pop was not only also a barrister; but a very well respected one. Details are hazy but Mr. Martin left that night with less than the three or four months rent that we owed him and not without promising to make repairs before we were to pay him again. He didn't. We didn't. I don't believe I ever saw him again. Sil did. City L did. But thats a story for another day when the next summer's sun was ruling the sky.