Stanley N. Alpert

“They have an oil facility in Staten Island. They handled contaminated wastes with benzene in it—benzene causes cancer—illegally, for a couple of years.” “So what you gonna do, put Mobil Oil company in jail?” Sen asked with sarcasm. “No, it’s a civil case. If we win, they have to pay a large amount of money.” When we first brought the case, we didn’t know just how outrageous the behavior really was. “How much?” “In this case, it could be millions of dollars.” “Who gets the money?” “The federal government.” Sen lashed out. “That shit is stupid, man. The poor man is down here in the ghetto, suffering, and your ass is gonna take millions of dollars and just take it for the government? That money belongs here, in this neighborhood, helping us, not in some big-ass government.” Boy, was I stupid to have brought it up. My sensibility was pro-environment. Take it away from the polluter and give it back to the people, to punish Mobil and put a little extra cash in the U.S. Treasury. Sen was not my ally on this one. He had far more immediate problems. The long-term risk of cancer from so many parts per million of benzene meant nothing to a man with no foreseeable long-term. Bullets or blades were far more toxic. In a perverse way he was making perfect sense. Rather than belabor my weak point and seek to convince him of the wisdom of my far more esoteric goals, I wisely shut up.”
― Stanley N. Alpert, The Birthday Party: A Memoir of Survival

“As I lay awake, I decided that if I made it out of there alive, I was getting the hell out of New York. This had gone too far. How could a normal person live here? In New York City, when two cars collided in even a minor accident, both drivers would jump out and start cursing, fuck this, fuck that, fuck you, fuck your mother, no matter whose fault it was. Either driver might throw the first punch or pull a baseball bat out of his trunk and start swinging.”
― Stanley N. Alpert, The Birthday Party: A Memoir of Survival