Phil

I met Phil at a long-closed Alphabet City bar that I spent far too much time at.

Nine times out of ten, a solo octogenarian in New York is the most interesting person in the room. Phil was no exception. An inadvertent man of mystery with a drink order more reliable than a Japanese train. Miller High Life. Never more than two. Never fewer.

He’d come in most days. Sit at the bar. Nurse his drink. I watched this routine more than a dozen times before working up the nerve to interrupt and introduce myself. Bought his next beer for the princely happy hour sum of three dollars. Started talking to him about his life.

Artist from the west coast. Sixty years in the same rent-controlled apartment on 6th street. Unbelievably low rent. Works in the MOMA’s permanent collection. New York in a nutshell.

I saw him later that week. Said hello again. Received a quizzical look, void of recognition, and a polite hello back. His short-term memory was not good and I’m not that memorable. Had a similar conversation as last time. Heard many of the same stories.

This pattern repeated itself over and over for months. The retellings never got boring. Slightly varied, they added depth and color. Like continually tracing over the same line.

The bar closed. I’d still frequently spot Phil in Tompkins, sitting on a bench when the weather was nice. One of those comforting New York moments. I hadn’t seen him in months. Not a great sign, but I’ve been traveling a lot and the weather has been awful.

Phillip Van Aver died on January 24th. An important enough part of the community to be memorialized in the hyperlocal news I read obsessively. A somber piece of news to stumble across. A good man who lived a good life.

I don’t remember a lot of grammar rules, but I know I’m supposed to use “fewer” for things that are countable. There’s now one fewer Phil. One fewer artist. One fewer person who was a core part of shaping a neighborhood I love in a city I adore. There are fewer and fewer people like Phil every day. Their absence is felt. I don’t know how to count that. There’s just less.