- da Brooklyn Stoop

- Brooklyn Memories

R. Dansfield Cranston, III - A Secret Past

by Ken Thompson

    I should have known, but how could I?

    He seemed like a nice guy. He was very well dressed, he looked classy and distinguished, he sounded "cultured" but with a mid-west accent, was friendly and outgoing, and seemed to have his stuff together... all good qualities I thought.

    It was the first time I ever met him. I was attending a workshop for "American Writers of the 21st Century" in Phoenix and he was identified as a literary agent, based in Illinois, who was hosting a discussion table for "Publishing for Mere Mortals". Knowing that I should strive up to the level of "mere mortal", I made his table my first stop after registering and grabbing a cup of coffee.

    Have you ever met someone who, right away, you're not too sure about? This was my feeling right after meeting Danf Cranston and shaking his hand but what the hell do I know… I'm not a literary agent based in Illinois. But I did have a feeling.

    After the five of us at the table went around introducing ourselves, Danf gave us some of his credentials that seemed to be centered on his representing authors to "journals and publishers of consequence" so that "histories of the American peoples are captured for all time". I thought there was to be a discussion but it seemed that Danf was in charge, the authority, and we would be listening to him tell us how good he was. He sure did that in detail.

    I guess those striving to be "mere mortals" were supposed to just be seen and not heard.

    He was at first superficially interesting but he began to bore me and then annoy me. He was also boring the other people at the table so when the first break came and we were allowed to change tables, we all took advantage of the situation and left Danf to tell his story to a new group. As the day progressed and with each subsequent break fewer and fewer attendees rotated to Danf's table. Evidently the word got out.

    At the mid-afternoon break when we were supposed to choose one of the subject areas for more in-depth discussion, I saw no one heading to Danf's table. Out of either pity or a feeling of self-debasement, I joined him and he started a one-minute synopsis of "How good I am at what I do." Immediately realizing I had probably made a BIG mistake, I was about to smile and head off to "relieve myself" when he asked me about what the subject matter I was most interested in.

    As I spoke about Brooklyn and some of the specific aspects I was interested in he showed some interest and made some notes on a slip of paper. For the next hour we talked about New York City and Brooklyn and the dynamic changes both had gone through.

    During the chat he indicated he had grown up in New England, attended Columbia University, worked for two big-time publishers and then moved to the mid-west after representing two MAJOR authors of historical fiction and non-fiction books.

    Danf showed a lot of knowledge and facts about Brooklyn and the history of the borough. The level of detail was beyond what I have become to expect from people who have not spent years there. We talked about the Revolutionary War, Prospect Park, Coney Island, Flatbush, the Heights, the bridges, and monuments. It was a good talk and he had some insights I hadn't thought of or been exposed to. When I asked if he had ever heard on BrooklynMemories.com, he said, "Never heard of it."

    When we broke up for the day, I had come to realize that Danf was pretty interesting and knowledgeable on a subject I liked. He was okay in that regard.

    At the evening's cash bar soiree, I smiled, mingled, chatted, and had a few white wines.

    When Danf made his grand-ish entrance, more interest was displayed for his wife than for him. She looked sophisticated and youngish compared to him. Her presence made him much more interesting.

    Through the next half-hour, Danf and she flitted from one small group to another. As he downed Grey Goose Martinis, he became louder. His wife separated herself from him and slipped to the outer rim of the gathering, not far from where I was standing. Since I'm kinda brash and she was attractive, I started a small conversation with her by saying, "Does he know everybody?"

    She turned and noticed me for the first time, hesitated for a second and said, "Not everyone. He'd like to know only the ones who could help him. The rest he doesn't care about."

    I introduced myself and learned her name was Claudine.

    I told her of my discussion with Danf from the afternoon and told her how impressed I was with her husband's knowledge of my hometown, Brooklyn. She said her husband had mentioned in passing speaking to someone from Brooklyn.

    She smiled wryly and ordered another Grey Goose on the rocks from a waiter making rounds.

    When it was delivered, she hesitated reaching for money so I quickly pulled out a ten and handed it over. She gave a "Thank you" without looking at me.

    After another of my attempts at a conversation that got nowhere she turned slightly toward me and continued to look into her drink.

    "He should know about Brooklyn… that's where he grew and went to school. He still has sisters there. After he graduated from Brooklyn College he was only able to get a job as a shipping clerk at the publishing house where I was a copy editor. My family had an interest in the house.

    "Bobby was so different that anyone I had ever met. He was so New York and I was so mid-west. We fell in love and he moved in with me on East 63rd. It was so fun and exciting. There was so much of the city he could show me and I could open to him a whole new level of social activities."

    "He's worked in a lot of jobs in publishing over the years and has done well. Having connections with the owners and their circle of friends surely helps."

    I was a bit confused by all of it so I jumped in. "So Danf is really Bobby?"

    "Oh yes. The R. in his name is for Robert, Cranston is an Anglicanized Kransky, and Dansfield is my mother's maiden name. R. Dansfield Cranston III will get you more business than Bobby Kransky. His bio is pretty true but it does have a heavy spin on it."

    I looked across toward Danf. He was even louder and at the center of a group that seemed both captivated and annoyed by him. I looked back to Claudine who was looking at the bottom of her glass. "He is a literary agent isn't he?" I asked, not knowing where truth and spin begins or ends.
She stopped another waiter to ask for a refill.

    "Yes… but he is very particular about who he takes on as a client. The two primary authors he has represented have connections to my family. They seem pleased for the work he's done. Getting them published wasn't any sort of problem."

    The waiter returned with a new rocks glass for her and I was out another ten. She whispered another "Thank you" toward her glass.

    "Has he ever mentioned BrooklynMemories.com to you?"

    "No. Should he have?"

    "No."


    Danf's group seemed to be fragmenting with some people joining others to head off for dinner. As I watched him look around unsuccessfully for another group to join his eyes reached his wife and they gave a slight toast to one another. He headed in our direction and I had a dilemma … while he was knowledgeable about Brooklyn and might be entertaining, the thought of spending another two hours with him over dinner and then possibly having to pick up the check was too much to bear.

    Quickly I turned to her and said,"Claudine, it was so nice to meet you," I extended my hand, "Hope you and Danf enjoy your time in Phoenix."

    She seemed surprised but said, "Yes… thank you. What was your name again?"

    The next morning I rose early and again avoided the exercise room. I leisurely dressed and went for a light breakfast in one of the hotel's restaurants. As I was being ushered to a table, I passed Danf and another attendee at a table for four. As if I was a long lost college roommate he called me over and had me join them.

    Evidently this was the opportunity Danf's table-mate needed to excuse himself and hurry off.

    Danf rambled on about nothing of interest, as I waited for coffee to be delivered. As soon as it arrived, and I prepared it to my liking, I took the offensive.

    "Your wife told me you're really a Brooklyn boy and have elected to restate your heritage and life to fit a revised image."

    "My wife told me you spoke during the cocktail hour last night." He paused and then continued. "I'm R. Dansfield Cranston III because that is who I want to be. I've worked to become Danf and I succeeded. Most of us dress, behave, and strive to be what we think we want to be. Modifying my name is a branding issue. Highlighting that I attended Columbia is spinning the truth. YOU conclude that I graduated from there though I never said I did. I did, however, attend two writing seminars there."

    We both sipped coffee and Danf pushed around the remnants of a puny Arizona bagel.

    "You seem to downplay your Brooklyn background; do you have a problem with Brooklyn?"

    "No, not at all. It is just not who I am any more. I feel that Brooklyn is a great place to be from. It is in my past just as it is in the past of many successful people. They strive and succeed and where they grew up doesn't get a mention. You don't hear Rudy Guilani proclaiming his Brooklyn heritage but it is there. Could our next President be from Brooklyn?"

    "Maybe it is just that I run into more people who are willing to wear their Brooklyn upbringing on their sleeve. Maybe not to shout about it but at least not to deny it to someone else from Brooklyn."

    "What would you have me do? Wear my Brooklyn Dodger's cap or talk as a stereotypical Brooklynite with "Turdy-turd and turd street"?" You can be whomever you want and I should be allowed to be whomever I want. I don't believe I have harmed you in any way. I'm not sure how our chat has gotten us into a seeming argument so let's just drop it."

    "Okay. I'm sorry I upset you. Would you mind if I let your story out?"

    "Not a problem, if that's what you want. Rest assured, however, that I won't be the one to represent you to publishers."

    "That's okay. I may find some way to let the cat out of the bag."

    "Would you like one of my cards?" Danf said as he reached into his jacket pocket.

    "No, thank you."

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2007.