Wheel-Chair Charlie

Charles "Wheel-Chair Charlie" Moore was a Binghamton legend. He passed away yesterday. This was an unused story from "The City From Another Universe," written about him in 2011. R.I.P. Charlie.  

The City From Another Universe

by Paul Juser

Wheel-Chair Charlie

The Royale Lounge was a seedy bar on Washington St., whose Saturday Night live entertainment was a 300 lb woman at a Casio singing that day's hottest hits in a monotone. Occasionally she had trumpet accompaniment. According to rumor, the Royale had once been a gay bar, but they served anyone with no question and without ever checking an ID, so the punks and the college kids had taken over the place by the late 90's. The Broome County Arts Council burned the building on the last night of the 20th century. The arson was not intended for the Royale, but to destroy the punk rock record shop owned by Mike from Abalienation. He was unifying kids against Gorgeous Washington's nefarious plan to re-route the street. Burning Royale and the porn shop on the other side of the bar was a bonus. 

Christmas Eve, one week before the Royale burned, I met Wheel-Chair Charlie for the first time. We were introduced by a drunk raving about Charlie's stint as a war hero. He was draped across his wheelchair, legs extended and covered beneath a filthy blanket. His hair was long and flaming red like his namesake, Charlemagne. 

Charlie lived on the street, so his smell was overpowering if you met him inside. You'd always see him in bars and arts events parked near the food tables, or off in a corner out of the way. We chatted over an hour about Ed Link at Roberson's Blue Box display. I thought he was just being polite when he declined my offer for a drink. I didn't expect him to be waiting when I returned. He probably didn't expect me to return, but still he would not take the glass of Franzia I brought him. Either he was being honest when he said he didn't drink, or he set a higher bar than me. People also say he's a drunk, but when I excused myself to get wine from the party downstairs, he said he didn't want anything. I didn't expect him to be there when I returned, but he still didn't take the drink. I was forced to drink both. 

The prevailing story is that he lost use of his legs in Nam, and now lives on the streets of Binghamton. Supposedly he lives under bridges, but this reporter is the type to stick his nose where it doesn't belong at early hours of the morning, and I've never seen this one outside the party circuit. I've never seen him anywhere doing more than sneaking a nap on the sidewalk on a sunny afternoon. If it wasn't for Charlies heroic efforts, the gallery owners of Binghamton would be putting out the same stale cheese cubes and pepperoni jerky for months at a time. They look down their noses when they see him, but most of the time he's the only person in their galleries worth talking to. Makes me hope Orazio Salatti's new place has a ramp.

Charlie is well-storied in Binghamton-past. I'm disappointed in myself when I see him on a First Friday, because he's the one person I'd enjoy a sober conversation with, and I'm typically a gibbering idiot. Charlie is forgiving to a fault though, and enjoys the company, and we both look less out of place. Eventually the Party Mayor comes flailing through the door and Charlie and I get back to our conversation. He can go on about Art and history, and has seen plenty of bands at free shows and out-door events. On the cold nights, doormen don't even ask his ID, and the undercovers turn a blind eye, because this man has clearly earned his place by the heater for 45 minutes or an hour.

Last summer Charlie was hit by a car crossing the street and spent a month recovering in Syracuse. His bills were undoubtably beyond his means, but the Cyber Cafe West held a benefit to differ costs. I was unable to attend, but thankfully a percentage of all sales that week were donated as well. I ate a number of Vulcans and drank quite a few Dead Guys in Charlie's name. Charlie is the King of Binghamton, tragically crowned, sleeplessly assessing his kingdom.