Old Mr. Flood

Joseph Mitchell is one of the great journalists and story writers in American history. He was on the staff of The New Yorker for most of his career. His legendary editor, Harold Ross kept him even through prolonged dry spells because he took care of all his talent, but especially for Joe because he just could not bear the thought of not having him around. Mitchell comes from that grand tradition of Southern writers. He came from North Carolina and found his place in the oldest parts of New York City, below the grid, below the Lower East Side, even below the Brooklyn Bridge. These stories take place around the South Street Seaport. Mitchell was first a newspaper man. Journalism ran deep in his sensibility. He had an aversion to celebrities, politicians and tycoons. He would not be caught dead at the Waverly Inn, though the West Village was one of his beats. He loved and was inspired and fascinated by the people that truly made New York a great city. The kind of people that made their living around the Seaport and the Fulton Fish Market. When I was a boy, I remember, parking was still free here. Open lots; not even a parking meter. The bums, living in shanties kept watch. Mr. Flood and the others are denizens of this district. Mr. Flood and the others are composites of all those he with whom he spent his days. Mr. Flood retired at eighty. We pick him up a decade later. He calls himself a seafoodetarian -- that and Scotch are the fountains of youth. Meat and vegetables shorten life, what with the scientists have done to them (and this is during the 40s). He names as first class fish places: Sweet's, Gage & Tollner's, and Lundy's, all of which I frequented, and a forth I never saw, Libby's Oyster House. But even they, Flood laments, sometimes are inclined to stray from true simplicity. So he, like me and like the fishmongers, settled on Sloppy Louie's as the last hope of reliable simplicity. Of chefs he says "I've made quite a study of fish cooks, and I've decided that old Italians are best. Then comes old colored men, then mean old Yankees, and then old drunk Irishmen. They have to be old; it takes almost a lifetime to learn how to do a thing simply." "Mr. Flood is well off and could undoubtedly afford the Waldorf-Astoria, but newness depresses him", just like it does Joseph Mitchell. Similarly, by nine a.m., Flood is ready for his first drink of the day, but never alone as it "leads to the mumbles". Sometimes he takes a little hot coffee with his Scotch, but mostly just excellent NYC tap water, never ice. If such stuff appeals to you, read Mitchell. But, good as the Flood stories are, I would not buy this book. It is over too quick and could ruin the rest of your day. But the whole collection, "Up in the Old Hotel and Other Stories", that will hold you pretty good.

I have recently become familiar with this classic New Yorker writer. My first was AJ Leibling. Now I have Joseph Mitchell to enjoy as well! The timeless style that these writers weave thier words with is so wonderful. Every time I begin a new work I begin to worry that it will end too soon. It almost always does. I think these writers are the pinnacle of an American style and time period that I love. I relish their works.

Fiction originally published in the 1940s. New York. Character driven. Writer from the New Yorker best known for Joe Gould's Secret? At least the movie. The writing is as fresh as when first published. Quick read. Striking prose. Example of what American fiction should be. This is the kind of writing one expects in anthologies on how to write. Books like this hold me for the rest of the year as I trudge through faddish fiction and quickly composed books. Elegant in form, common in subject matter, and comfortable in tone. You should already know what to expect from this.