I’ve been missing New York lately. Don’t get me wrong – I really enjoy being back in St. Louis. Dan and I are carving out a really wonderful life here.
But I was watching some dumb movie on cable late last night as my head throbbed with my pollen-affected sinuses. Okay. I’ll admit it. The movie was “Outrageous Fortune,” that timeless classic with Bette Midler and Shelley Long. But a lot of it was shot in New York. The scenes, the stereotypes of New Yorkers, the whole package made me miss being in Manhattan.
Last night was my first night of class. Usually after class my friend Sharon and I walk to the parking garage together, but she’s in a different class now as our paths become a little more defined in our curriculum and our studies. So I was walking alone to the garage, missing Sharon. And when we came to Laclede Avenue and had to cross over, a young woman said to me as we stood at the crosswalk, “You know, you can never tell if they [the cars on the street] are going to stop for you or not.” I said, “When I was in New York, if a car didn’t stop for me I used to hit the back end of it and always the car had Jersey plates.” She said “Yeah, I always blame bad driving on Illinois drivers, but I don’t think I would do anything like that.” And I said, “Well, here, neither would I, because everyone in the Midwest is either so polite, or they have a .22 under their seat and would pull it out if you touched their car.” She laughed. I laughed. Then she got into her brand new Lexus with the sticker still in the window.
I first arrived in New York in 1984. Well, I’d gone there once as a nine-year-old, but I showed up in April of 1984 to check out graduate school. I fell in love with the city almost instantly. And through the years, I really got to know the town. I lived in Chelsea, in the days when Chelsea was gritty and raw. I worked on the ninth floor of One Rockefeller Plaza, overlooking the ice skating rink. I had friends in Brooklyn and Queens who I visited regularly. My father-in-law grew up on West 231st Street in the Bronx. I guess that leaves Staten Island, which most New Yorkers, including those on Staten Island, think is a part of New Jersey.
My favorite restaurant is still Maryanne’s on 16th and 8th. But if there is a special occasion and I’m flush with cash, you can’t beat the tasting menu at Daniel. I used to get my hair “done” in the wig room of the Neil Simon theatre. I commuted for three years through the World Trade Center, taking the PATH to such garden spots in the Garden State like Jersey City and Newark. I’ve been trapped in subways. I’ve survived blackouts (nothing like Times Square without electricity!). I used to walk into Frankie’s on Ninth Avenue, and he would immediately know what I wanted. My version of Cheers was Hudson Place on 36th @ 3rd. Of course, when I lived there the Bridge and Tunnel crowd drove me nuts. Then I became a part of the Bridge and Tunnel crowd, and the tourists would make me insane, especially in December. But there is nothing like the Macy’s parade, or the lighting of the Tree in Rockefeller Center, or the haunting tones in the darkness of St. John the Divine at midnight to make you recognize that you are part of a unique landscape.
Certainly, the city has changed dramatically in the last quarter century. Some say it’s all for the best. I’m not so sure. The city lost something with the Guiliani makeover. And then of course there is the Anniversary That Would Not Be Named which is this weekend.
But the city is still such a magnet. I mean, let’s be honest. Does anyone in east bumfuck Idaho really care about where an Islamic community center might be located in Manhattan? Distances and dimensions take on new meaning when you are there. Because of the intimacy of the city (yes, the intimacy), people have to confront not only those who are different, but also their own individual feelings and reactions to those differences constantly. I only remember my own feelings about coming back from a wonderful 10-day trip to Germany, which included a visit to Dachau. The day after I returned I was at work and went to my local deli, and viewed the guy behind the counter differently as I looked at the numbers tattooed on his arm.
So anyway, today I’m missing New York.
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