New York, New York
What it Means to Me
John Lennon believed that New York was the best city in the world to live in. But the capital city of our nation’s economy (if not the capital of capitalism everywhere) gets knocked around a lot. Folks from other parts of the country may sneer when they say, “up in New York.”
And while it may be true that Shanghai is outdoing Manhattan with its extravagant, James Bond-worthy skyscrapers, New York has a special place in history, past and future, as an emblem of the American Empire.
I hitched a ride there a few weeks after graduating from college, suitcase in hand.
The reason I went there is because I thought it would be harder than anywhere else.
I wanted to measure myself. It is hard. It is populated with many people who are starting out, struggling to get by, making it work, making it happen. But then Sunday comes and you can go sit on a bench in Central Park, or Prospect Park in Brooklyn, and watch the people go by. I was never so poor I couldn’t afford the Sunday Times.
One of the characters in my novel, Meet Me in Milano, flashes through her memories of New York as she leaves for Italy. One of them is an image of an elegant blonde in a white fox fur hailing her driver while a homeless man rummages through a waste receptacle looking for something to eat next to her. That’s New York: a city of harsh contrasts, and it can be a lot to process sometimes.
But there is nothing like feeling you are in the center of action, especially when you’re in your twenties, and you have everything at your fingertips. Sure, money is always a problem; there are cockroaches, rats, bedbugs, whatever! Nobody wants your stuff, your book, your ideas! You feel so alone, you have a fourth floor walkup, and you have to schlepp your groceries. Your train has stopped, who knows for how long …
But still. To me, New York City represents the history of American ingenuity, enterprise and plain old guts. I have sometimes felt on top of the world there.
I once helped orchestrate the delivery of enough custom office furniture to fill the top four floors of one of the now destroyed World Trade Center buildings. After five o’clock, while Manhattan was emptying out, we looked out over the streams of auto lights, coded drawings in hand. Even though I was a junior assistant, it was exciting.
I accompanied some Italian friends in a cab to Brooklyn, and then we walked back over on The Bridge, admiring the stonework and the cables, just for something to do. We did it at sunset, when the light hit the crown of the Chrysler building. If you haven’t done this, you should. Magical!
When my dear friend came for a visit from Milan, we walked the High Line (one of the City’s many beautiful urban parks) and then had a delicious brunch at a bistro all mirrors and chocolate mousse while it drizzled outside on the brick paved streets of the West Village. Romantic!
So maybe I am speaking to the choir when I say it’s a great place and without understanding New York, you are missing the point of the USA:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
(Emma Lazarus, plaque at the Statue of Liberty)
Let’s not forget!
