Old Mr. Flood [Paperback]

What kind of an eccentric would feast on an ancient Boston breakfast of fried cod tongues, cheeks and relish the sounds of gelatinous air bladders? Perhaps the inimitable Mr. Flood, an older gentleman determined to stretch his life to one hundred fifteen years on a diet that consists mainly of fish. Mr. Flood has no desire to meet his Maker and enjoy the fruits of his Baptist belief, because enjoys every minute of living. With a firm belief in the quality of a fish diet in prolonging life., Mr. Flood is frequently seen at the Fulton Fish Market picking out that day's fare, by now something of an icon, always precisely dressed and dapper, a man in his 90's who still has his own teeth and doesn't need glasses.

Mr. Flood hasn't endured the discomforts of a cold since 1912. Not adverse to a few drinks of his favorite Scotch, he has been known to supplement his diet with such select spirits. And aside from the occasional hangover, he believes oysters can cure any ailment. Is Mr. Flood the real deal? Perhaps not in this incarnation, but the author has combined the aspects of several old gentlemen over the years, "truthful rather than factual", Mr. Flood's existence based solidly on fact.

With anecdotal vigor, Mitchell documents a day in the life of the extraordinary Mr. Flood, perusing the New England world of a man who has seen much of history pass by, but isn't finished playing his part in the drama. The epitome of the independent spirit that characterized so many of his generation, Mr. Flood is the essence of Americana, an individual who is proud of his achievement, justifiably so. Old school plain-spoken, Mr. Flood is proud of his penchant for alcoholic comforts of an evening, part of a vanishing breed, a gentleman who serves as a reminder of a generation that asked for nothing, unafraid to toil for a living. His voice echoes through the years, a denizen of the East River Fish Markets and neighborhood pubs, satisfied to end each day well fed, determined to give as good as he gets, leaving his mark on the world he inhabits. This is a man who will not go quietly into that dark good night.

This small, intimate book looks into the lifestyle of an old-style gentleman. Reaching the end of his life, he remains tenacious and determined, as dapper today as when he was a young man with a bright future ahead. Luan Gaines/2005.

Joseph Mitchell is one of the great journalists and story writers in American history. He was on the staff of The New Yorker for most of his career. His legendary editor, Harold Ross kept him even through prolonged dry spells because he took care of all his talent, but especially for Joe because he just could not bear the thought of not having him around. Mitchell comes from that grand tradition of Southern writers. He came from North Carolina and found his place in the oldest parts of New York City, below the grid, below the Lower East Side, even below the Brooklyn Bridge. These stories take place around the South Street Seaport.

Mitchell was first a newspaper man. Journalism ran deep in his sensibility. He had an aversion to celebrities, politicians and tycoons. He would not be caught dead at the Waverly Inn, though the West Village was one of his beats. He loved and was inspired and fascinated by the people that truly made New York a great city. The kind of people that made their living around the Seaport and the Fulton Fish Market. When I was a boy, I remember, parking was still free here. Open lots; not even a parking meter. The bums, living in shanties kept watch. Mr. Flood and the others are denizens of this district. Mr. Flood and the others are composites of all those he with whom he spent his days.

Mr. Flood retired at eighty. We pick him up a decade later. He calls himself a seafoodetarian -- that and Scotch are the fountains of youth. Meat and vegetables shorten life, what with the scientists have done to them (and this is during the 40s). He names as first class fish places: Sweet's, Gage & Tollner's, and Lundy's, all of which I frequented, and a forth I never saw, Libby's Oyster House. But even they, Flood laments, sometimes are inclined to stray from true simplicity. So he, like me and like the fishmongers, settled on Sloppy Louie's as the last hope of reliable simplicity. Of chefs he says "I've made quite a study of fish cooks, and I've decided that old Italians are best. Then comes old colored men, then mean old Yankees, and then old drunk Irishmen. They have to be old; it takes almost a lifetime to learn how to do a thing simply."

"Mr. Flood is well off and could undoubtedly afford the Waldorf-Astoria, but newness depresses him", just like it does Joseph Mitchell. Similarly, by nine a.m., Flood is ready for his first drink of the day, but never alone as it "leads to the mumbles". Sometimes he takes a little hot coffee with his Scotch, but mostly just excellent NYC tap water, never ice.

If such stuff appeals to you, read Mitchell. But, good as the Flood stories are, I would not buy this book. It is over too quick and could ruin the rest of your day. But the whole collection, "Up in the Old Hotel and Other Stories", that will hold you pretty good.

Fiction originally published in the 1940s. New York. Character driven. Writer from the New Yorker best known for Joe Gould's Secret? At least the movie. The writing is as fresh as when first published. Quick read. Striking prose. Example of what American fiction should be. This is the kind of writing one expects in anthologies on how to write. Books like this hold me for the rest of the year as I trudge through faddish fiction and quickly composed books. Elegant in form, common in subject matter, and comfortable in tone. You should already know what to expect from this.

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