If you’ve ever eaten at Relish or had a drink at Zebulon, you’ve certainly noticed the motorcycle shop at the corner of North 3rd and Wythe. On summer days, you’d find the proprietor, Slick, sitting out front. Sometimes, he’d even work on a bike, but mostly he was talking about them (and letting Mike do most of the work). In the evening, he’d watch TV on a small black & white set out front. Year round, the line of bikes out front would get moved across the street from time to time in rough accordance with City’s street-cleaning regulations.
Slick, who was well into 70s, passed away a few weeks ago. As best as I could tell from his stories, Slick was originally from Philadelphia, where he got into some sort of trouble that necessitated a move to NYC. That was back in the late 50s. Slick was a hell of a mechanic and also a racer – drag races in the streets and flat tracks in the dirt. For a long time, Slick was a Harley man – he raced them and he fixed them. But as Harley started losing the racing edge to Japanese bikes, Slick became disillusioned with the marque. Eventually he stopped working on Harleys altogether, and switched over to the Japanese bikes (if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em). To his dying day, Slick was disgusted with Harley, or at least with what Harley had become since the 60s.
As I said, Slick was a good mechanic, but he worked at his pace, which was usually dictated by his convenience. About 12 or 13 years ago, a friend of mine bought a KZ 200 cafe racer wheelie machine. The bike was in good shape, but the fork seals were shot, and no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t pull the seals. We brought the forks down to Slick’s to get him to pull the seals with the proper tool. It was a nice Spring day, and Slick was sitting in front of the shop. He looked at the tubes, looked at the tools around him, and announced it would take him at least three hours to do the job. He didn’t have the tool handy, and wasn’t going to get up to find it. Just as we were leaving, Slick saw something on the ground – the tool he needed to pull the seals – picked it up, popped the seals out in less than a minute and charged us $20 for the effort.
More recently, I was rebuilding a CB 750. I had the bike running well, and was working on the cosmetics. The side covers were painted, but the badges were missing. I stopped by and asked Slick if he had them. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, I got ’em right in here – come back tomorrow night and I’ll have ’em for you.” Tomorrow night, it was the same story, and it continued that way for a good week and a half. Eventually, Slick did look for the badges, and found them exactly where he knew they were all along. A few months later, I sold the bike, and about a year after than, it appeared in the line of bikes in front of Relish. It sat there a while, and then someone bought it off Slick. Six months later, it was back at Slicks a different color, but definitely the same bike. He recognized it and so did I.
Slick was always best when he was hanging out, shooting the shit about motorcycles, the old racing days, and how royally Harley screwed up its racing program. He would talk to anyone about bikes, even me on my European bikes, and even Harley riders. But he wouldn’t work on Harleys – said he sold all his tools and parts years ago. He particularly liked to talk to the kids in the neighborhood, and a lot of kids would take their parents out of their way to see him. He couldn’t always remember kids’ names, but he’d write them down on the side of the store next to usual seat. Even that didn’t help – he never got my son’s name right, but he tried. We’ll both miss him.
10 responses to “New York Slick, RIP”
I lived next store to Slick for 5 or 6 years and heard all the same stories. He was a great guy. He loaned me tools and a jack for my Honda CB 750 for weeks at a time. He also gave me parts and didn’t want to charge me for them. Slick said, sometime when he needed some cash he would hit me up. 6 months later after I thought he had forgotten, he saw me on the street around 10 pm and asked me for 60 bucks (I think he owed his mechanic Mike for something). I gave him the cash and that was the end of the debt in his mind even though I probably owed more like $80. I figure at any given time about a hundred people owed slick money or a favor because he was very generous. Kind of like an open Karma credit line. I learned a lot from him too. He gave advice when he saw me working on my bike but when I started to look pissed, he’d say something like “That’s okay young fellow, you do it the way you want” and just laugh it off. In five years he never rmembered my name… I was always “Young Fellow” or “Young Blood”. I had 3 different Japanese bikes and he never forgot any details about them though.
He’ll be missed.
Did MIke Take over his business?
Mike is still there, but as far as I know, Slick’s son is running things.
I have known Slick for 15 years now. I lived in Brooklyn at the time. Slick worked on my first bike, a 1978 Goldwing. As time passed I moved to Westchester, and then Roclknad County. Not a year went by that I did not go over and visit Slick at least once. I would always bring him and Mike water when I would come. I my son by so Slick could see him when he was born 9 years ago. I listened to many a Slick story. He was kind of lonely, and I always stayed with him as long as I could. Last year I sold him a bike which he quickly turned around for a pretty penny I am sure. I did not mind, he was my friend. There was a lot of wisdom in Slick. There was also a great since of loss. He wished he and his son/s had done more with their life. He was not bitter, but he knew things could have been better. I just referred someone to him this week not knowing that he had passed. The world is a much less colorful place without Slick and those like him. He will be missed. Rest in Peace Slick my Brother. Rise Like Ra!
I came to Williamsburg as a “johnny come lately” in 1993. Always trying to find a way to get around on 2 wheels, I immediately bought a 1976 KZ900 to tool around on. I was cruising the neighborhood one day and noticed my front brake was squeaking so, I took it over to the motorcycle shop on the corner of N.3rd and Wythe. I asked the big burley man out front if he could fix it. He said, “For 5 dollars I can take that squeak out”. I agreed to the deal. He then grabbed a can of WD-40 from off the ground, walked over to my bike, shot a spray onto my disc, and cured it. I paid the 5 dollars and stood there and smiled. Thus my relationship with Slick was born. For the next 14 years, I spent my spare time sitting with Slick, chewing the fat, and just passing the time of day. He parted onto me a simple philosophy about life without trying, maybe without knowing, in all the simplicity that was his. He told me, “You have to ride a motorcycle with one eye on the ground in front of you, and one eye on the road ahead”.
He was a great man who remained a constant when all around him was quickly changing. I didn’t get to attend any ceremonies, if there were any, because I have been living in Bangkok since April 2006. But, I heard his voice in my dreams tonight, and decided to search his name on the internet hence, these words. I will truly miss the man.
Rest in Peace, brother, Tuna Fish Joe
I came to Williamsburg as a “johnny come lately” in 1993. Always trying to find a way to get around on 2 wheels, I immediately bought a 1976 KZ900 to tool around on. I was cruising the neighborhood one day and noticed my front brake was squeaking so, I took it over to the motorcycle shop on the corner of N.3rd and Wythe. I asked the big burley man out front if he could fix it. He said, “For 5 dollars I can take that squeak out”. I agreed to the deal. He then grabbed a can of WD-40 from off the ground, walked over to my bike, shot a spray onto my disc, and cured it. I paid the 5 dollars and stood there and smiled. Thus my relationship with Slick was born. For the next 14 years, I spent my spare time sitting with Slick, chewing the fat, and just passing the time of day. He parted onto me a simple philosophy about life without trying, maybe without knowing, in all the simplicity that was his. He told me, “You have to ride a motorcycle with one eye on the ground in front of you, and one eye on the road ahead”.
He was a great man who remained a constant when all around him was quickly changing. I didn’t get to attend any ceremonies, if there were any, because I have been living in Bangkok since April 2006. But, I heard his voice in my dreams tonight, and decided to search his name on the internet hence, these words. I will truly miss the man.
Rest in Peace, brother, Tuna Fish Joe
Remember when you made me two tom’s bike over the bridge with my bike and a thick rope with a hook on the end of it. I’ll miss you my New York Slick.
you taught me a couple of things about being a man..
I hope you get yourself a nice chinese bitch up in heaven.
Dump gas and go fast..
-big dog
I am heartbroken that I will never again hear Slick advise:
Don’t get any Lipstick on your Dipstick!
Hey- Anyone have contact info for Slick’s daughter? Or Mike?
I’ve never met his daughter. Haven’t seen Mike around since shortly after Slick died. Slick’s son (I’m drawing a blank on his name) did most of the clearing out of the shop (it is now for rent, with a telephone number painted on one of the windows, which may be the son’s number).