I no longer remember much of what I did during the weekday evening hours after working at the Council on International Educational Exchange [C.I.E.E.] by day, once I finished writing the "Generation In Chains" novella in the summer that I lived alone in the basement apartment in Jamaica, Queens. The only two things I can now recall doing that stand out in my memory are meeting a woman friend from the Midwest in Central Park, alone for a few hours, when she was in Manhattan with her family to attend some kind of extended family wedding; and also exchanging letters with a woman who was a member of an academic left group of radical economists.
Neither the visiting womanfriend I met in Central Park nor the academic left woman economist, however, seemed interested in visiting me in my basement apartment in Jamaica. The womanfriend I met in Central Park had to go back to the Manhattan hotel later that evening where she and her parents were staying; and, in addition, had begun to identify herself more as a lesbian than as a bisexual at that period of her life. And the academic left woman economist seemed more interested in preparing herself for some kind of college professorship job teaching Marxist economics to undergraduate students than into developing a closer friendship or relationship with a non-academic left, working-class writer-musician-left activist like me.