If I were to describe to you a man that wore a funny red hat everywhere, has had 4 wives and 17 cats, and was shot in a taxi cab in 1992, what do you think his occupation would be? Plumber? Stock broker? Perhaps even unemployed? Well, you would be sorely wrong if you had any such assumptions, because his occupation (until a few weeks ago) was: New York City mayoral candidate.
That’s right this man, this specimen, this absolute unit is none other than my beloved Curtis Sliwa. While I would not have voted for him, because I am not a Republican, and also find some things he says to be generally objectionable, I still cannot help but talk about him. This is because he truly is one of the funniest people in US politics over the last few years, and despite my general seriousness, he has legitimately made me laugh about it again. [Ed. Note—yes, this is the most NYC-centric issue we’ve ever put out.] While Curtis lost by quite a margin, I would still like to take the time to reflect on and ponder this truly weird and zany man, and some of his most prominent hijinks.
Early Life
Let’s start at the very beginning. He was born on March 26th, 1954, to a relatively working-class family in NYC. He had his first run-in with politics and activism in high school, when he attended Brooklyn Prep, a Jesuit high school in (go figure) Brooklyn. Despite being a well-rounded and talented student who even became class president, he had a gripe. He hated the dress code and decided to do something about it. He quickly organized a student protest, and was promptly expelled due to this clear act of radical defiance. From here, he continued on with his education at Canarsie High School.
Story 1: Super Sliwa and His Band of Merry Men
It was a horrible night in Gotha—I mean, New York, in 1977. There was looting all around, someone had stolen the catalytic converter off the Wienermobile, and someone had even taken the copper wiring out of the local bodega’s walls. Sliwa, sitting around a table in dim light with his companions, plotted and brooded about the current situation. “What are we to do about such horrendous criminal actions, Curtis?” one of the men said.
Another quickly chimed in saying, “Oh, hush, the crime problem is not even that bad,” before being nailed in the head by a comically-timed rock being thrown through the window. “Okay, fine, maybe it’s a bit of an issue.” All of a sudden, an alert blared and a fax began slowly printing. After an incredibly suspenseful five minutes of printing during which the silence was palpable, one of the men around the table read it aloud:
“There has been a major earthquake in Romania, immense numbers are dead, there is election violence in India . . . Oh and there was another pickpocketing on the subwa—”
Immediately, Curtis yelled out “THAT DAMNED SUBWAY FULL OF VAGRANTS!” and slammed his fist down on the table in anger. Continuing, he said, “Men, if the police aren’t going to stop this, then we will have to step in! We need to stop this epidemic of violence in our municipal transit systems! Who is with me?!”
Sliwa put his arm out above the table, bodega bagel in hand. Quickly, his compatriots joined him, and in a scene out of Arthurian legend, they knighted one another, forming the Knights of the Round Tab—I mean, the Magnificent 13. After this hasty yet valorous action, a bright light shone through the windows of the Batcav—I mean, Magnificent hideout, blinding them all with its glimmer. Suddenly, the second window smashed as a red beret landed on Curtis’s head, fusing to his flesh immediately and becoming his most consistent companion.
Story 2: Guardians of the . . . Five Boroughs
This group was to be a not-so-iconic band of men who would walk around and try to prevent crime. Primarily, they sought to operate in the inner city, especially on the subway and other public transport routes. Despite this however eventually it was decided that nobody liked their original name (or that it implied they would only ever have a baker’s dozen of members), so they decided to rename themselves to what you, the reader, have most likely heard of Mr. Sliwa for: the Guardian Angels.
This renamed organization has expanded and still exists today, but had some of its most high profile engagements in the 1970s and 80s. For example, Sliwa specifically had said he had been involved in such incidents as being injured fighting a rapist, saving a woman from a mugging, being shot in the back of a taxi cab by the mob, being attacked and hit two dozen times with baseball bats, staging a final stand to prevent a Foot Locker from being looted, and also that he was kidnapped by three Transit Police officers. [Ed. Note—Fun fact, current NYC Mayor Eric Adams started in the transit police.] If you are saying to yourself “Well James, that’s insane; how is that even possible?” then your skepticism would be right. This is because three of those were actually publicity stunts, as Sliwa himself confessed, in order to “lead to some improvements” in the system.
Before we continue on, I would like you to guess which three of those were actually real. Just guess.
Okay, that’s long enough. The following were real:
- he was shot in the back of a cab,
- he was hit with baseball bats 24 times,
- and he did play a pivotal role in the defense of the SoHo Foot Locker.
Let’s look at two of these incidents, however, and have a better understanding of the experiences of this true soldier.
Sub-Story 1: The Big Yellow Taxi from Hell
A June 19th like any other. The year was 1992, a dreary and stormy day in New York City. Curtis was walking out of his house and went to hail a cab. He happily hopped in the first one that came over and was happy to hear the driver knew his way around the city. He asked for a ride to Madison Square Garden and continued on, twiddling his thumbs and carefully repositioning his iconic beret. This is where things begin to get weird.
All of a sudden, the driver takes a wrong turn. When questioned by the commandant in red himself, he silently floors it. Curtis, clearly worried, asks what the hell he’s doing, but once again gets no response . . . until suddenly, a man in a mask jumps up from the dash of the shotgun seat, points a gun at Curtis, and yells “Take this!”
Curtis dives out of the way as a shot is fired, narrowly missing his head; less luckily, five more bullets hit him in the legs and groin. Curtis scrambles for the handle to open the door and get out as they speed down the street, but the cab had been sabotaged: the handle was filed off. Realizing this is his last shot at escaping, just before another shot goes off and profusely bleeding, Curtis dives into the front seat for the open shotgun window. He narrowly scrambles out of the vehicle, while dangling from the window by his belt, in a scene straight out of the Fast and Furious movie I really hope they eventually make. At long last, he lands on the pavement. The offenders run off; he’s quickly picked up by police and medical services.
After being in a deep sleep for two days and after surgery, Curtis finally awoke to the sight of former mayor Ed Koch (his self-proclaimed “nemesis”), a chaplain, and his now-former wife Lisa Evers. After 6 months of grueling recovery, Sliwa was back out on the streets, operating once again. You might be asking who ordered this attack, as it was clearly planned. After 12 years of gathering evidence, it was found that the Italian Mafia was behind it. No, I am not kidding: this is real. The hit was ordered by John “Teflon Don” Gotti, a Mafia boss who went after Sliwa for being an outspoken critic of organized crime.
Sub-Story 2: Curtis’s Last Stand
June 2nd, 2020: New York City is rocked by turmoil. After the death of George Floyd, the subsequent rightful outrage over his killing leads to large-scale protests across the United States. Despite the general peaceful character of the protests, some seek to capitalize on the turmoil to commit crimes. Seeing this, our valiant hero decides to get out on the streets and prevent any actions being taken against his fine city and its capitalistic society.
Sliwa and six of his men take up patrols in the rather rich neighborhood of SoHo, defending it from any untoward individuals. It was here that they got into an altercation in a Foot Locker store under threat. The Guardian Angels went on the offensive, brandishing their bright red berets and jackets, throwing menacing blows and forcing out the vagrant forces from the stronghold. Unfortunately, the besiegers regrouped and reinforced themselves, adding more men and elite weaponry, such as hammers, baseball bats, one firework and a bike.
From here, Curtis saw the large group approaching, but decided to rouse his men, giving a heroic speech in a scene straight out of the 300 yelling things (probably) like, “REMEMBER THE SUBWAY” and “WITNESS ME,” before locking arms with his fellow Guardian Angels to reinforce the now-encircled Foot Locker fortress-like doors with their human shield. The battle was fierce: a thrown bike struck the Angels in the head, as did multiple other small projectiles, and Curtis fractured his jaw in the fracas. Despite all their efforts however, the great last stand of the Guardians succeeded, and the invaders were repelled in what shall now be known as the Battle of the SoHo Foot Locker.
Closing Curtis
Thank you all for reading my rather silly article that, despite covering a mayoral candidate, was unable to include his actual political platform despite pushing 2,000 words. Like with my Bob Katter article, I chose to keep it sillier and overlook some serious allegations of racism and sexism surrounding the man. I would highly encourage you to look more into such things, and all you can find on the man, to more holistically understand his position. Regardless I hope I was able to either inform you, or at least make you smile—and thank you once again for reading!