Time (Clock of the Heart)

We've been back in Cleveburgh for - yikes - 28 years. Can that be right? 29?  Yeah - come December it will be 29 years. 

Yikes indeed. 

Long before we moved back, I knew that a clock I assumed my great-grandfather made (he was a jeweler) was displayed in a restaurant not far from where 710 and I resided. 

As we have moved a few times in the city, each time has brought us physically closer to this place. 

Over the years, I have made overtures to purchase the clock. The then owner, Brendan, said he never sells anything that was hanging in the restaurant, and there was a LOT of stuff on the walls - including said clock. 

Right at the beginning of the pandemic Brendan sold the place. I initially reached back out to Brendan then, what does he care, but he relayed that he sold the business and everything in the building to the new owners. 

I read this in the news and figured out the new owners and put in a few seemingly promising inquiries, and then it went silent. Then the people who bought the place sold it without ever doing any reno, or even opening, as we were all on lockdown. So, I went through the process again - to no avail. 

Years - yes, years - later the place reopened. Same name, pseudo-same vibe, but with a lot less stuff on the walls, including the clock. No one seemed to know a thing about it, though from certain sources, I heard they had a roomful of art and such that they never put back up. They claimed it was no longer there.  Bother. 

Two weeks ago, the new owners were shuttering the place. I made one final attempt. We had some good back and forth, but eventually they came back with, "sorry - it's just gone".  I thanked them and figured it might turn up on eBay, but more likely in a dumpster somewhere. I even stopped by the place on a Monday to see if they'd let me rummage around the art room - but it was locked, though everything was still in place. 

Fast forward to last Friday, the last weekday of the month. I was at a funeral for a mentor of mine. I positioned myself in the back of the church for any number of reasons (lightning hitting me was not out of the question).  It was the whole, sit down, kneel, stand, rah rah rah kind of service. I mostly sat. 

The priest was fucking HOT, but other than that, it was a mostly by-the-numbers church funeral.  Then my phone buzzed. 

My heart and spirits immediately pricked up. 

I'm sure I broke a lot of etiquette here, but I was texting with the manager back and forth, and could I get there soon to pick it up. I explained I was at a funeral but could be by in 90 minutes.   ....and then silence. 

So, I just panicked and said, I'd be there in 30. As I was in the back, and it was SRO, I figured few would notice and I just opened up a seat for someone. 

I silently thanked Bob, the deceased, for maybe having some pull and it was just good karma overall. 

The front door was open, there was almost nothing left in the place. Three tables, with the clock laying on two of them pushed together. I found the manager who told me they found it under a stairwell beneath some plywood!  It was literally the last thing in the place. Well, figuratively, I guess - since you know three tables. 

She turned down my offer for compensation and just told me to enjoy it. I was not expecting that. 

As it would turn out, while my grandfather did make jewelry - I have a ring and pocket watch from him, he sold, but not made, the wall clock. It was from New Haven, CT.  I guess it stands to reason - jewelers sell products from multiple vendors, I suppose it was completely different in the 19th and early 20h century. 

Yes, those are his initials that the Griffin is holding. 

Unsurprisingly, the clock being over 100 years, doesn't work. I'm not even sure what parts are missing yet to get it to work. Maybe it will never work. But we'll want to fix and clean up the woodwork and then find a place to hang it in the house. 

I don't know what to do with it after me. The last name ends with me on my side. I have a cousin who has a son with our last name. I suppose I could give it to him. Or maybe donate it to the Maltz Museum here in Cleveland. For all the probable crappy things my great-grandfather did, he cofounded a Hebrew Loan agency that helped Jewish refugees get established in the U.S.. The museum might like something like that. I don't know. 

I have time to figure it out.   (see what I did there??)

Song by: Culture Club