by robert fromberg
At 8:00 AM Eastern Standard Time, 9:00 AM Atlantic Standard Time, on Sunday, October 16, 1983, in Santo Domingo, capital of the Dominican Republic, Santo Domingo Mayor Jose Francisco Pena Gomez, on the last morning of what Jose described to his aides and several local reporters, off the record, as ‘un poco de turismo político por parte del gran fanfarrón’ (or ‘gran pendejo,’ depending on his mood), Mayor Gomez was attempting to nail to the wall the ass of New York City Mayor Ed Koch.
Mayor Gomez’s requests to purchase used equipment of various types had met with good results from Italian Prime Minister Bettino Craxi, Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme, and French President Francois Mitterrand. Last May, Mayor Gomez had achieved more modest results from Mayor Koch—five used garbage trucks for $5000 each.
Now, after a day of sightseeing at which Mayor Gomez had arranged for cheering crowds holding banners with Ed’s picture and sick-making words like ‘Welcome, Mr. Mayor’ and ‘We Love Mr. Koch,’ a luxurious dinner in May Koch’s honor at which he was given the keys to the city, and with this motorcade to the city center getting ready to begin and more crowds and banners already visible, Mayor Koch was slipping out of every attempt by Mayor Gomez to grasp him.
Used equipment, used equipment. Equipment that they’d pay for. That was all Mayor Gomez was seeking. People familiar with his thinking said that the Mayor could barely imagine the great heaps of used equipment lying in lots scattered throughout New York City. Yet every time Mayor Gomez mentioned another deal, Mayor Koch would smile and say, ‘We’ll get into the details later.’
As the motorcade started to roll, Mayor Gomez was overheard to say, quite accurately, ‘You never see this kind of love in New York, I don’t believe.’
Mayor Koch smiled and started to rise from his seat, preparatory to sticking his head out of the roof of the car.
Mayor Gomez grabbed Mayor Koch’s scrawny arm through the sleeve of his gray suit jacket and squeezed. ‘I can arrange for these people to hate you just as much as do the citizens of New York City.’
Mayor Koch smiled, made a patting motion of placation with his free hand, and jerked his other arm loose with an ease that made Mayor Gomez grind his teeth.
In Colonial City, the motorcade deposited the two fellow mayors in back of a stage with red, white, and blue (conveniently, the colors of both the Dominican Republic and United States of America flags) bunting set up in front of the Catedral de Santa Mariá de la Encarnación, the first cathedral in the Americas. As Mayor Gomez drifted a few steps from Mayor Koch, an onsite-aide approached Mayor Gomez, who muttered to his aide, ‘New York Times?’ Yes, he was assured. ‘New York Daily News?’ Another yes. ‘New York Post?’ Yes again.
On stage, the mayors smiled, joined hands, and raised their arms to the cheering crowd. They stepped to their separate lecterns, and Mayor Gomez began. Speaking in English, he thanked Mayor Koch for the visit, for New York City’s dedication to the welfare of those from the Dominican Republic who lived in that great metropolis, and for the mayor’s personal friendship.
‘And,’ he said, ‘I would like to further and especially thank Mayor Koch for personally promising to sell to the city of Santo Domingo two tractors and twenty trucks!’
As the audience applauded, Mayor Koch, beaming, said into his microphone, ‘We’ll get into the details later.’
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Robert Fromberg wrote the memoir How to Walk with Steve (Latah Books, 2021), which won the Next Generation Indie Book Award for memoir, and the essay collection Friends and Fiends, Pulp Stars and Pop Stars (Alien Buddha Press, 2022), which won no awards. This news item is from the forthcoming book Gee, That Was Fun: Unhappy Accidents and Planned Damage, October 14-20, 1983. IG: @robfromberg
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