FINDING A NICHE
Bernard J. Phillips’ life had not been a storybook one. He had a very troubled teenage period. His mother, who had finally found another man, was now working as a secretary for a local construction company in Brooklyn. Bernard’s new stepfather was not the loving type and hated art. It was all about sports; he lived for the Yankees and hated the Mets. This meant Bernard loved the Mets and hated the Yankees.
The final straw for Bernard living at home came June 8, 1969. Bernard walked into the living room where his stepfather was watching his favorite player’s number being retired: Mickey Mantle, number 7. Bernard said nothing. He just sat next to his step-dad and opened his jacket up with a shit-eating grin. When his stepfather saw the custom tee shirt he went ballistic. He started choking Bernard, and if not for Brenda Phillips, Bernard’s mother, he might have succeeded. The shirt had in bright, large capital orange lettering: MANTLE SUCKS! Bernard left the cramped house in Brooklyn that afternoon, never to speak or see his mother again. He was 16.
Bernard made his way to the city, where he found work at a fruit stand. He sold fruit for a local store and was given a free undersized bed in the basement. Survival required him to mature overnight and become a good salesman. No fruit sales, no money, no food. His daily struggles ingrained into Bernard that he never wanted to be poor. He would succeed, starting now.
Selling fruit is an excellent way to develop your people skills. Manhattan’s inhabitants are busy and they don’t like to be bothered with some kid selling a bruised apple. To get passers-by to buy required making an immediate connection. This could be a cute phrase or, in Bernard’s case, he learned to juggle. He spent hours honing his God-given talents of balance and showmanship.
Bernard would juggle a pear, an apple, and a rubber ball. He would then put a handkerchief over his eyes (which he could see through) and start his act. Each time he would take a bite out of the fruit, missing the ball till the end, when he would have only cores and then he’d catch the ball in his mouth, a devoured fruit in each hand. Pulling off the mask, he’d retort to the now huge crowd, “Who wants some fruit!”
The fruit stand allowed Bernard to made a decent living and put money away. As Bernard got regular customers, life became easier, but this was only the start. The thought of being rich as he’d been in childhood started to consume Bernard’s every thought.
He knew he was destined to be rich and successful, and in the art business. Every day he would look at his little fake Picasso that his father gave him, his only possession, and announce to the painted image, “I will be a successful art dealer. I will show the art world what a Callahan is truly capable of.” But how?
The years slipped by as he took in the fruit-stand proceeds. He aged into his 20s without even a GED. Education finally took on a priority. Work at the fruit stand became part time and education full time.
Four years later, Bernard Phillips graduated with a degree in fine arts from Hunter College, which had been next to his boyhood home. No one knew Bernard was the son of Jim Callahan, and as a child had visited a Picasso show that had ultimately doomed his father. The show had been pivotal in both the Callahans’ lives.