A beacon of curmudgeony hope and rotwood dadaism has come and gone in our East Village. At April's end New York City shared the last breath of Eddie Boros. He was the man responsible for the sculptural phenomenon known as the Tower of Toys, a cantankerously lumbering celebration thrusting from his 30-years-owned plot in the Avenue B Garden. The man had planted
trees in the Korean War. The man had both legs amputated. The man spoke with me one sunny day, and was gruff, but beautiful.
trees in the Korean War. The man had both legs amputated. The man spoke with me one sunny day, and was gruff, but beautiful. As I added some trash of my life to the dumpster outside the garden which, a month after Eddie's passing, contained the corpse of his unique tower, I spoke to a local gardener. We agreed that although sad to see the city take the artwork down, it was fitting. She said that Eddie had always loved the everchanging nature of art, desiring the ceaseless morphing of his creation as the leaves of a plant would grow, shrivel, and sprout again. But since his amputation the tower had stagnated. Now his death and the city's euthanasia had opened fallow grounds for a bunch of new plots in the community-run garden. New life will rise.
Left behind, too, is a new view of the sky.
