My Elderly Friend's Inadvertent Revenge to the Late Susan Sontag

Over late lunch, my elderly friend, who is a native New Yorker and whom I met again after a few years of not seeing him, shared me again details of what happened between him and the late Susan Sontag, the writer. They're neighbors in one of those buildings in a complex built pre-war time (and whose original owner committed suicide during the financial crash in the early 20th century) somewhere along 9th Avenue and 23rd Street, with my friend living on the 9th floor and Susan Sontag on the 19th floor (which is actually the 20th floor because the building doesn't have a 13th floor). I heard the story from him many years ago but I made him repeat the story to me; I thought it's a good way to see Susan Sontag in a different light as a highly accomplished writer who was very much a human being like all of us reading this material. I have to say right now that I admire Ms Sontag's works; I read so many of her movie reviews and even an article on photography, the specific title of which I fail to recall now. My classmates and I read this article in high school, and were required to write and talk about the work in school.

My elderly friend, who's also a retired English teacher of at least 50 years, and whose real name won't be mentioned here, one day was walking with his partner and crossing 9th Avenue, and they saw a huge luggage right on the corner of the streets. Being someone who turns into cash stuff that he finds on the streets of New York City (NYC) as well as those his neighbors have refused (he noted in wonderment how these people could afford to just toss away valuable stuff easily), he was wondering what was inside the heavy luggage. He was soon opening it, and thought there could be valuables inside that he can turn into cash by selling them outright to interested customers all over NYC. They immediately went back inside the condominium to check the contents of the heavy luggage more closely.

As soon as he and his partner were  standing before the elevator of the building where they live, Susan Sontag and a heavy set man were coming out of the elevator. He was immediately being asked by both why he has that heavy luggage with him. He told them he picked it up from the corner of the street and thought someone must have left it there as thrash. Such a situation is really common anywhere in NYC; you'll see all kinds of stuff on the streets of the city such that you can furnish your whole apartment with finds from the streets where you walk about in your daily life here. It's a matter of fact of living in NYC, which some residents may refuse to openly admitting. The streets of NYC are literally laden with valuables; you just have to open your eyes and have the courage to do something most would like to deny doing. And it soon became an embarrassment somehow as it looked like to me this unexpected encounter with Ms Sontag but my friend decided to right away to hand over the heavy luggage to the heavy set male companion of Ms Sontag.

And on one occasion, he saw Ms Sontag crossing the street, and said 'Hello, Susan', which to me sounded like my elderly friend was just being normal when you're with neighbors. And Ms Sontag was pissed and told my friend something to the effect of "How dare you talk to me?", to which my friend replied something I forgot now, but which led to Ms Sontag screaming at him right there on the street.

My elderly friend who's been a freelance individual who makes the most of what NYC has to offer him to lead a happy life didn't really take such behavior from Ms Sontag personally. And one evening, as what is usual with my elderly friend, he went about checking the fire escape stairs inside his building. He found a huge dark bag that he brought back to his apartment. In it, he saw many pieces of Ms Sontag's panties.

I asked "How do you know they're Ms Sontag's panties?"

"They're with several boxes of personal stationery of her. I heard she just died, and her son must have thrown them all away. I still have her stationery. I actually thought of selling her panties on Craigslist but eventually thought against it."

He also told me how Ms Sontag's apartment, which she bought for $1million was sold by her son for $3million soon. And renovation works were soon taking place in the apartment but they stopped right after the trials of the Ponzi artist Madoff started. The unit was sold again for $8million unfinished. And again sold at $11million to a family who my elderly friend says seldom stays in the apartment.

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