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The Chosen Ones: An Interview With Royal Young

The author and voice of the Lower East Side talks about living on Long Island with his grandparents, why New York is no longer kind to artists, and the dubious rabbi who oversaw his bar mitzvah

by
Periel Aschenbrand
August 19, 2016
Photo by Erik Erikson
Illustration by Tablet Photo by Erik Erikson
Photo by Erik Erikson
Illustration by Tablet Photo by Erik Erikson

The Chosen Ones is a weekly column by author and comedian Periel Aschenbrand, who interviews Jews doing fabulous things.

After reading Royal Young’s 2013 memoir Fame Shark, which chronicles the his childhood in 1990s New York City, author Jerry Stahl called him the “heir apparent to…literary Jews from early Philip Roth to any-time Jonathan Ames.” But Roth and Ames never lived with their grandparents in Great Neck, New York. Young does.

“I’m a city kid so the suburbs are fascinating,” he said. “I’m more centered there and I have peace of mind. NYC is no longer a home for the creative. Also, Fitzgerald wrote Gatsby in Great Neck.”

Every evening at 5 o’clock, he mixes drinks for his grandparents. For his 83-year-old bubbe (whom he calls “Babbi“) it’s a gin and tonic; for his 88-year-old Zayde it’s whiskey, neat. He recently convinced his Zadye to smoke weed with him to ease his joint pain, but he didn’t like it at all. Babbi, on the other hand, loved it.

She said to me, “I have neuropathy, too!” recalled Young, and I was like, ‘No, you don’t!’”

Born and raised on the Lower East Side, both of Young’s parents are mental health professionals. His father also works as an artist under the pseudonym “A. Lubowski” for a project called “Hidden America.” The project’s goal was to create representative portraits of Americans from each state, to dissect their rich and subversive fantasy lives. Young’s father created a P.O. box in Soho and began communicating with people, asking for personal material about their fantasies, via personal ads in newspapers. “It was also a sick thrill to get dick and pussy pics to his P.O. box, obviously,” Young says.

So how does a nice Jewish boy from lower Manhattan obtain a name like Royal Young? The answer is: He doesn’t. The name wasn’t given; he gave it to himself. Or, more accurately, he met a compulsive liar on the Internet and got into a questionable relationship with her. In between telling him tales like, “Lou Reed used to sing me to sleep at night,” she started calling him Royal.

“Rosa, that’s fucking ridiculous,” Young said to her.

“No,” she replied, “it’s lonely.”

“I was like, ‘sold!’” said Young. “In the womb, I kicked a lot and they were going to call me “Shtarky,” which means “strong” in Yiddish, but instead they named me Hazakwhich means strong in Hebrew. My last name was Brongold. But Dad didn’t like the “d” at the end so he legally changed his to Brongol. And my Mom is still Brongold. I don’t know where Young came from.”

But what isn’t up for debate is where Royal cut his teeth: New York City. For creatives, however, Young feels it’s no longer the place to be.

(Image courtesy of Royal Young)
(Image courtesy of Royal Young)

“The city has been sold. And you know, it’s like, if you weren’t here before 9/11, then just ‘fuck off.’ The possessiveness and disregard of what came before you is what concerns me with these rich assholes. They made a rooftop garden serving $15 cocktails called Mr. Purple. Do you [even] know who Adam Purple was?! We’re naming rooftop bars after amazing community leaders who created spaces for poor people while there are no more community spaces anymore.”

Periel Aschenbrand: Well, I’m glad I didn’t suggest meeting there.

[Royal glares at me.]

PA: Just kidding. It’s too early for $15 cocktails. But while we’re on the topic… What’s your favorite drink?

RY: Tequila. Or Coors Light. I prefer quantity over quality.

PA: How do you eat your eggs?

RY: Deviled. Or in soup. Other than that, I hate eggs.

PA: How do you drink your coffee?

RY: Black. Iced. Or with rum, depending on my mood.

PA: What’s your favorite Jewish holiday?

RY: Passover, obviously. Because of the story. Also in my family, based on Sephardic tradition when we sing “Dayenu,” we whip each other with scallions.

PA: What shampoo do you use?

RY: Whatever is in the shower.

PA: Gefilte fish or lox?

RY: I fucking hate gefilte fish. When I was a kid, I once tasted cat food and that’s what gefilte fish tastes like to me. It looks like an albino fetus. I do love lox, though.

PA: Five things in your bag right now?

RY: I don’t have a bag!

PA: That’s a lame-ass answer. What’s your favorite pair of shoes?

RY: Currently these LA Gear sneakers. I got them for $10.

PA: Favorite film?

RY: I’m wary of favorites in general. A movie that deeply effected and shaped me is Europa Europa, based on the true story of a Jewish teenage boy who was mistaken as German and lived among Nazis throughout WWII.

PA: I don’t usually ask this question, but can you tell me about your formal education?

RY: I went to Bennington but I dropped at when I was 20 and moved back in with my parents. I looked like a baby David Bowie with gold chains and giant fur coats.

PA: Isn’t that place clothing-optional?

RY: Legally, it’s a clothing-optional campus as long as you bring something to sit on.

PA: Did you have a bar mitzvah?

RY: I had my bar mitzvah at The Village Temple and the rabbi who bar mitzvahed me was a heroin addict who loved prostitutes and rough sex. I’m pretty sure he was high at my bar mitzvah. I mean, let’s be honest, he was lit.

PA: How did you know all this stuff?

RY: Because my dad was a social worker at Foundation House on Houston and Allen, which was a residence for people with AIDS and HIV and one of the ex-hookers there said the rabbi was notorious over there. He was very nice though, he was very sweet, and he was a pretty good rabbi. He went to therapy, got sober and is now a therapist, but [the rabbi’s behavior] was obviously a big scandal. He tried to grope a teenage girl and was nodding out during services.

PA: That’s quite a fucking story.

RY: Listen, I used to wave “hi” to hookers on my way to kindergarten. Now the worst thing a kid sees is someone not recycling.

Periel Aschenbrand, a comedian at heart, is the author of On My Kneesand The Only Bush I Trust Is My Own.