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Anthony Olszewski
P.O. Box 3362
Jersey City, NJ 07303
BIRDCRAFT Web page:
http://www.petcraft.com
J.P. NEGRI - UNDERGROUND AVICULTURISTLast modified:
J.P. Negri mailed in this article. As befits a rebel, no return address was enclosed. The only clue is a postmark from Jersey City, NJ. He explains that his family was established in America by an Irishman who, fleeing the wrath of the English tyrant Cromwell, settled with the Indian tribes on what is now the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. He describes himself as "a financier, philanthropist, and an all round bon vivant." He is an underground aviculturist both literally and figuratively. His collection of mated pairs of parrots is housed in the basement of an apartment house in Jersey City. This inner city setting puts him at odds with hordes of vandals, thieves, cranky neighbors, and officious officials. I will now let him tell his own story. editor
My earliest memory is of my mother complaining about my birds. This was nothing new in my family. My father and uncle both kept racing pigeons. My uncle owned a pet shop.
Olympic level marathon complaining was a tradition for the female members of the clan. "The birds take up too much time. We can't afford a new car, but you had the money to put that ugly shack up on the roof. The neighbors are going to call the health department, 'cause the pigeons are messing up their laundry." This irritable Greek Chorus seemed to possess unlimited lung power.
In order to at least quell the financial aspect of the argumentation, I eventually switched from pigeons to rearing pet birds -- parakeets and canaries. There was a ready market for these birds in the form of pet shops and my neighbors. Some individuals would eventually buy several birds, since, having caught the "bird bug," they wanted to start raising birds themselves. My indoor collection of birds slowly engulfed the basement of my parents' house. My mother, now assisted by my two sisters, took up the crusade with renewed vigor. "This isn't a hobby; it's a disease. Only a crippled intellect could spend entire weekends cleaning bird cages. Do any normal people get up at four in the morning to wash animal dishes?"
Thoroughly disgusted, I found a small, boarded up storefront, located on the Jersey City waterfront. Right outside the Holland Tunnel, this was Jersey City, P.G.-Pre Gentrification. The neighborhood was infested with derelicts, narcotic addicts, and their female cohorts. The landlord, an alcoholic former longshoreman, lived above the premises. A combination Noah and Moses, I led my feathered legions to their new home.
For several years, my breeding establishment prospered. I raised thousands of birds each year. By very economically placing classified ads in bird magazines, I soon had flocks of customers at my door. The convenience of the location, right outside the tunnel and the New Jersey Turnpike, funneled bird people from all over New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania right to my door. A family came all the way from Detroit just to buy a Violet English Budgerigar from me.
The birds were now paying my college tuition. This was the era of sky high interest rates. I had cash left over for money market funds and CDs. I bounced around on two new Harley Davidson motorcycles, one for the city, another for the Highway.
Graduating with a degree in Computer Science, I got an office job. I lasted, give or take a few days, two months. My financial independence engendered an arrogance that bordered on the oppressive. I did not have to put up with anyone, so no one wanted to put up with me. I really did not mind. The job was keeping me away from my birds.
Money kept rolling in from the birds. This was the mid eighties, the roaring eighties. I now spent as much time on the phone with brokers as I did reading bird magazines. Half of the brokerage industry trained by cold calling me. I soon sported a portfolio of utility stocks and bonds and also stock in IBM. I kept all the certificates in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator in the bird store. I also put a little sum aside in a Swiss Franc denominated annuity, just in case.
Disaster struck. Jersey City has a quaint custom, a rite of passage, so to speak. Adolescents roam about, nearly indiscriminately, committing crimes with abandon. A mob of these malefactors, under cover of darkness, attacked the brick wall of my bird store. Since the owner of the building had collapsed in a drunken stupor, the police were not summoned. With crude burglar tools, the thieves managed to break a small hole in the wall. A thin child squeezed through and, after packing the birds in pillow cases, passed them out to his waiting accomplices.
To say the least, I was devastated. It took me several weeks to even begin to get over the shock. I eventually became involved in the pet supply side of the industry.
After a period of bereavement that lasted several years, I again wanted to keep birds. I decided to buy property, so as not to be at the mercy of an incompetent landlord.
In the late eighties, buying property was not an easy task in Jersey City. The Jersey City waterfront was now called the Gold Coast. There was a housing boom. Real estate speculation was rife. Prices were sky high. After months of searching, a suitable property, a five family with a large basement was located. An initial deposit was required to secure the mortgage.
This was October of 1987. To raise the down payment, I began to liquidate my portfolio. As luck would have it, I was completely in cash by the time of the stock market crash. The birds had again come to my rescue!
Still, the business climate was not good. It took me several years to properly secure and waterproof my new basement bird room. An electronic air cleaner and a wide spectrum lighting system were installed.
In the interim, I had replaced the building's original super. She performed her duties in a very cursory manner. I soon got tired of constantly begging her to complete her tasks. Though she remained as a tenant, I informed her that her services as super were no longer required.
The day for which I longed finally arrived. I installed a pair of Medium Sulphur Crested Cockatoos and two surgically sexed pairs of Red Lored Amazons. I also brought in a pair of Devon Rex show cats. Surprisingly enough, since the cats came from a breeder who owned a large number of cats, one of mine became a fervent mouser. I am sure that he had never seen a mouse before I put him in the bird room. A few unfortunate rodents made their appearance and were immediately dispatched. None dared to invade again.
Storm clouds were brewing on the horizon. The first hint of trouble came when I was contacted by the city. The health department requested a "routine" inspection. Though I generally do not let strangers in the bird room, it seemed best to comply. The inspectors found no problem with the birds. They were very impressed with the degree of hygiene and sanitation of the whole set up. They asked if it was always so clean. I told them that every dish was sterilized every day and that the floors of the flights were scrubbed daily. Ironically, the only problem uncovered in the whole building was the former super's unit. This was found to be in an extremely filthy condition.
The former super, obviously a morose malcontent, renewed battle on a new front. Going to a local tenant advocacy office, she lodged a complaint that the building had become rodent infested from my birds. When I appeared for the hearing, I had no idea what the charge was. More than angry, I told how my cats made any mouse trouble impossible and that there had recently been the good report by the health department. I explained that the only problem was that being produced by the troublemaker. The hearing officer asked the woman if she had seen any mice in with the birds. Since she had earlier admitted that she had never seen the birds, only knowing about them from their yells, she was forced to answer no. He then determined that any rodent problem must be coming from an outside source. He directed me to close up any openings around the perimeter of the property. The matter was then called to a close. One small victory for bird breeding in the city!
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