Subways: a token
I’m in New York City for the weekend, the town where I was born and raised but don’t visit all that much any more.
It seems to me there are more people here than ever. Whether that’s true or just my perception, they certainly sport more iPods than ever. Subway riders are more subdued than they used to be, dreamily lost in contemplation of their musical selections, bereft of the otherwise ubiquitous cell phones that don’t seem to function deep in the bowels of the stations.
This latter fact poses a dilemma, of course, when one is rushing to a meeting, as I was yesterday. Now, those who know me are aware that I tend at times to run just a tad late, but yesterday my tardiness was enhanced by the fact that I had to buy a subway card (the subway tokens of my youth long gone, along with the fifteen-cent fare).
The man in the booth–and they still do have a man in the booth, and I thought dealing with him would be faster than trying to relearn how to operate the automatic card machines–was relatively laconic about how the whole thing worked, however. Unlike most New Yorkers, he seemed to savor the slowness. By the time I managed to purchase the card (“I’d like one ride;” “I can’t sell you one ride;” “What’s the smallest number of rides I have to buy?” “Two;” “How much will that cost?” “Four dollars”) and put it in the turnstile slot and then step up to the train–my train, serendipitously arrived at the station while he and I were having it out–the subway doors slammed shut.
The wait for the next one was uncharacteristically long. And I was surprised at how antsy the lack of phone coverage made me. Apparently the cell phone has become such a regular part of my life that I take it for granted, although I’m not one of those people who walks around the city streets habitually jabbering on one. But they are incredibly useful items for just this very purpose: to say I’ll be a few minutes late; to say “Where are you?” when I’m meeting people in a public place and can’t find them.
The train did eventually come, as trains eventually do. Despite what I’d imagine would (and should and could) be major advances in technology, the guy who announces each station (at least, that’s what I think he does) is just as unintelligible as he was back in the days when Saturday Night Live made fun of him. The young lovers still smooch. The remnants of my high school Spanish are still such that I can understand all the ads in that language (“Learn English to become more independent”). New York is still the quintessential melting pot. People-watching is still a great sport here.
A few snapshots: an elegant and worried-looking person with profound cheekbones, so tall and thin and hawk-nosed, and with such a severely short haircut that it took me a while to ascertain she was in fact a woman, holds a dog carrier of a size that could only contain something tiny and yippy and frivolous, like a Yorkie. An Afro-American woman looks for all the world like Cleopatra, ancient and mysterious. The young man standing in front of me and holding onto the bar exudes a Brando-esque smolder (the young Brando of “Streetcar,” that is, not his nearly unrecognizable older manifestation).
Emerging at Times Square and walking to my destination–a hotel there, to meet some friends–it strikes me that this is not the Times Square of my youth. And I spent a great deal of that youth in this general area, because that’s where so many ballet studios were clustered, including the one where I spent several formative years, at the old Metropolitan Opera House.
At ten and eleven and twelve and thirteen and fourteen I rode the subway there and walked through a small part of what was then a sleazy and not-all-that-inhabited Times Square, keeping my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with the drunks and the perverts who seemed to be its main inhabitants. But yesterday (and every day these days, or so I hear) it brimmed with vast crowds of the mostly young to middle-aged, mostly upbeat and on the move. The signs are brighter and more numerous (although I miss–oh, how I miss–that old Camel smoking sign). And I, no longer a dancer or even young, moved among them, somewhat of a tourist in the city I once knew so well.
Mrs. Tmj and I did a road trip down to SoCal for our fifteenth wedding anniversary.
Crowds were the defining element for anywhere south of San Clemente all the way to San Diego. Crowds, and traffic.
But the biggest changes were in Oceanside. I spent most of the eighties stationed at Camp Pendleton or Twentynine Palms, in between deployments or stationing overseas. Back then Oceanside was the bottom of the job johnny beneath the seat that was the front gate of Pendleton.
But in 2002 the main drag, Hill Street, had grown new sidewalks and stylish streetlights. Most of the shops had lost their seventies chrome and glass and adopted a kind of neospanish stucco facade. The old headshops, bars, and the porn theater had been replaced with galleries and boutiques.
Pastels. Lots and lots of pastels. The beach crowd had always been a seperate subculture living parallel to the Marine prescence.
But what cheered me most was the kids walking everywhere.
It was beautiful.
I was in NYC in the early ’70’s and lived there for most of the ’80’s. I still go there several times a year.
It has changed. Times Square is much more crowded, and much more upscale (so are several other neighborhoods.) The friendly and helpful Puerto Rican and Dominican bodegas and Jewish delis are mostly gone. I can’t even find a good bagel anymore. Most of the East Euro ethnic neighborhoods are gone. It’s all very upscale and/or Asian. Things change.
Vrey enjoyable post. It’s good just to drift in someone else’s travelogue – all the pleasant imagery and none of the hassle.
Lucky you finding a young Marlon smoldering on the subway. Usually you will find only Steve Buscemi types lurking.
Ah, the “Big Apple”…rotten to the core. Well, not that bad, I guess. I haven’t been there for a few years, myself…
I visited for a class around Thanksgiving, 2004. The airline lost my luggage. The people were very friendly, I found getting around Manhattan pretty easy, and at a lot cheaper than in the Midwest. It was a good experience.
A great post, especially since I was in NYC a little over a week ago and was able to relate to the observations. Simply a great city…to visit and observe. I’ll leave it to others to live there.
Joe
You’d think someone would figure out a way to put cell repeaters into the subways… Apparently they manage to do so in Sweden. Can you imagine the number of people that would switch to the first carrier that got antennae into the subways?
I also grew up in NYC and moved to Boston, so I can relate. (My occasional bouts of homesickness are satisfied by overheardinnewyork.com.) For years on end I didn’t have any reason to return. When I finally did, I visited my old neighborhood and was also struck by the Soylent Green-like mass of people. I had to pinch myself and tell me it was mostly a matter of perception, that I really did grow up this way!
This was the late 90’s, and everyone was talking about how much the city had improved under Giuliani. There was a huge amount of media attention on this point. Times Square was all cleaned up, crime was way down, and there were no more obvious signs of panhandlers, pimps, whores, crackheads, or hustlers. No street was left unstrolled at night. Even the South Bronx had rebounded. If you rode the subway, you’d never see any graffiti, spot a bit of trash, or smell a whiff of urine. More than that, there was positive talk of a “new civility.”
Reading these accounts, I came away with the image of marble-paved streets. I imagined men in tophats making grand gestures and vying with each other, throwing their coats to the ground to help a lady cross a puddle. So it was out of a sense of urgency that returned to see what was going on. I thought the city I knew might have been gone forever! It didn’t take long — maybe a matter of minutes — for me to arrive at a judgement: false alarm!
TmjUtah: my memories exactly of the California coast. I grew up in the San Gabriel Valley in the 60s. My grandparents would take a holiday to cabins near Oceanside. We would take Hwy 1. I remember an old gas station along the way, of two pumps, and red coke machine dispensing glass bottles. Classic Americana long gone. I remember Oceanside as sleepy in the mid-sixties, but then that through the eyes of a child.
Neo: I was stationed at Governor’s Island in 1974 and would take the USCGC ferry into Manhattan. Then catch those oh-so-dangerous subways to get around. I remember how Broadway and Times Square were sadness in lights.
I think it’s interesting that the trolls never comment on these threads. To do so would almost acknowledge Neo’s humanity, I think.
When I lived in Maine and worked in The City, it seemed so crowded and hard to navigate. Then I moved to Chicago and still worked in The City, and it seemed not so crowded anymore. Thus does Maine make small towners of us, I suppose. And the search for a really good bagel, though becoming more of a challenge each year, gives meaning to our lives 🙂
It was great to get together for a lib/hawk brunch yesterday! Anytime you get the travelling bug, let us know.
On the walk home I was amazed. That neighborhood, like most of the city, has really improved. I used to work near Broadway during the dark ages of the early ’80’s before Giuliani cleaned the whole place up. I returned to the area in the late ’90’s and felt like a stranger in a strange land. No squeegee guys, no porn on 42nd street, polite cabbies. Like Proust with his madeleines, if it wasn’t for the old familiar odors in the subways, I would have been lost.
Mike,
I traveled frequently to NYC in the late 80s, then didn’t return for 10 years, then moved here in 2002. There is a HUGE difference between then and now. HUGE.
And the South Bronx is rebounding. it’s full of the young bohos who got priced out of Williamsburg.
NYC certainly isn’t paved with gold, but it’s safe and livable (except for the outrageous rents).
Yes, the brunch was a lot of fun. 4 hours of girl talk and recovering liberals support group. 🙂
Ditto on the road trips!