Those first few days in New York, Neal and I hung out with Allen, Hal, and Jack, and they were always telling us about things we had to do and movies we had to see. The first one they told us to go see was The Testament of Dr. Mabuse—the French version. Like I said, we had thirty-five dollars when we got in to the city; and within two days, seeing films and eating in restaurants, we had nothing. There we were—totally broke in New York City. So Allen very graciously took us over to his cousin’s, who let us move in with him. I always know his name until I try to say it, and then I can’t think of it anymore. Allen’s cousin was a red-headed boy.
In any case, we stayed at Allen’s cousin’s place for quite a while. Hal and his girl Virginia—they called her “Ginny”—used to come over, and she danced for us up there. She had dark hair, and she was a model—I think Hal finally married her. He always dressed sharp too. Neal was always excited to see Hal. “We’ve got to go over and see Hal!” Neal would say whenever he heard that Hal was nearby. Hal was an archeology student, and much later I heard that he’d become a farmer in Paso Robles. That’s the last thing in the world I would have imagined him becoming! Hal just wasn’t the farmer type—at least then he wasn’t the farmer type.
When we left Allen’s cousin, we finally got a place of our own over on a hundred and thirteenth and Riverside, very close to Columbia. It was right by the river, and it wasn’t a bad little apartment—apparently it wasn’t the ghetto, but it wasn’t the best neighborhood either. I guess mainly college kids lived there. It was a small, two-room apartment, and Jack spent quite a bit of time there with us. Jack and Neal started to get comparatively close then. At that time, Jack always seemed like he never had anything to do—like he never had any place to go, and nothing very pressing. Most of the fellas were rushing here or rushing there; they had this to take care of, and that to take care of. But Jack always seemed like he was at odd ends. Of course, he was out of school by then. He was working on his novel,5 but I didn’t know a lot about what he was doing. And then, pretty soon, Neal and Allen were getting very involved, and they’d go off together.
It was up to me to support us, so I found a job at a bakery. I had just gotten the job that morning, it was my first day, and Neal told me to steal some money! We didn’t have a penny, and Neal told me, like, “Bring some money home!” Well, the woman who ran the bakery caught me, but she didn’t call the police. She just dismissed me. It really put me through a traumatic experience—I don’t know what you would call it, but I went into a state of shock, I guess. Because, after I got off the bus at Columbia, instead of going to the boys’ hall, where Neal was waiting for me, I just sat down on one of those big concrete benches that they had near Columbia. I don’t remember who it was who found me, but I was just sitting out there in the snow, just sort of sitting there in a daze. In any case, somebody found me, and Neal came out and asked me what happened and what was the matter. The funny thing is, I still didn’t feel any disappointment in Neal. It wasn’t even so much the horror of being caught. What I told him was that I felt so sorry I disappointed him. I was in tears.
For quite a while after that—or at least, it seemed like quite a while, but maybe it was only a few days, though it felt more like a couple of months—I don’t remember exactly—but I would go through these things, these mental episodes, that completely bewildered me. I tried to explain them to Neal. It was as though I was leaving my body. For a sixteen-year-old girl—especially at that time, I had never read anything, never gotten into anything concerning psychology or how the mind works, so I had no way of knowing or even half-ass analyzing what was going on—it was such a frightening, terrifying feeling for me. I was never what you would call a “crier.” Before this time, I rarely cried; I wasn’t into making scenes or screaming or things like that. But I would get so terrified when this feeling would come over me, like I was dying, and I couldn’t stop it. Neal would hold me, literally for hours, walking me and telling me I was going to be okay. It really was a bad, bad time in my life.
Whether this had anything to do with Neal really kind of settling down, I don’t know, but it’s possible I frightened him. In any case, what happened was that Neal got a job parking cars and we moved over to Bayonne, New Jersey. We weren’t seeing hardly anyone—or maybe I should say, I wasn’t seeing hardly anyone. I guess he would see some of his friends while he was at work, or he would take off work or whatever. I’m sure he was seeing his friends. But the fact is, it was still a really bad period for me. And it was especially ironic because I finally had everything that I thought I had wanted. Neal was working and coming home every night, and I was going through this thing of being a good wife.
Jack Kerouac, unknown person, and Neal Cassady, auto garage, San Jose, 1952. (Photo by Al Hinkle.)