DanMargarita.com

Sat. Aug. 24----My friend John is nice enough to drive me to the Rt. 128 Amtrak station in Westwood. Leaving ourselves with what we think is plenty of time, we encounter traffic on Rt. 128. I sit panicking in the car knowing that unlike MBTA trains, they do not come along every few minutes and I can?t just hop on the next one. We get to the station with five minutes to spare. Uncertain as to what kind of security measures I'll be faced with after Sept. 11, I leave my Swiss Army knife key chain at home. I don't know if security personnel would take it from me fearing that I might commandeer the train and drive it into the fiftieth floor of the Hancock Tower. Other than showing my ID to get my ticket, there is absolutely no security and I jump right on the train and begin my journey. I sit in a car that is next to the dining car. After getting a pizza I go back and buy a chocolate chip cookie that is wrapped in plastic. The woman asks me if I want her to open it for me. I politely decline. After a few seconds of banter she asks again if I want her to unwrap the plastic from the cookie for me. I'm tempted to ask "What, do look like a Special Needs student?"

Instead, I politely decline again. As I head back to my seat, I try to unwrap the cookie and discover why she thought I might need help. The cookie has been entombed in shrink-wrapped plastic that soldiers could use as a protective shield. Unfortunately I don't have my knife to open it, so I resort to stabbing my cookie with a pen to break through the plastic.

Four hours later I arrive at the 110th St. station where Shawn lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I walk to his apartment building and we shoot the breeze for a while before heading around the corner for a bite to eat. Over dinner Shawn tells me about some of the gruesome tales of his work. Coming upon murder scenes, finding D.O.A.'s and some sad tales of the domestic situations that he is primarily called upon to investigate. After dinner we head down the street to an Irish pub where he tells me more about "the job."

Sun. Aug. 25--Shawn goes to work and I stop for breakfast at Tom's Restaurant, which is a couple of blocks from where Shawn lives. This eating establishment is best known to viewers of the TV show Seinfeld as the facade of the coffee shop that Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer hang out in. After breakfast I go for a walk in Central Park. It is a beautiful Sunday morning and there is a road race going on as well other runners, bikers, softballers, rollerbladers and a host of people enjoying the greenery amidst the municipality.

A woman laying on a blanket reading says "Excuse me. Are you from around here?"

I tell her I'm not, but thinking she may be a tourist looking for something, I reply, "No. What are you looking for?"

She clarifies that she just wanted to inform me that her church was having a service there in a while and wanted to invite me, assuring me that it was a Christian church. I don't bother to tell her that I already have plans for later in the day that will take me to that baseball cathedral known as Yankee Stadium.

Growing up I always heard stories and jokes about people being mugged in Central Park, but on this day with so many people around, I never feel unsafe. Even if one were to go off the slightly beaten path and get accosted by someone, help would be no more than a muffled scream away. I make my way through the park to the Jacquelin Kennedy Onasis Reservoir, where across the water is a magnificent view of the New York City skyline. Yet, it seems somewhat incomplete. One can?t help but wonder where on the horizon the World Trade Center towers stood. I come out of the park at 86th St. and walk back to Shawn's apartment. Conveniently the subway line is right outside of Shawn's apartment building, so I hop on the train and make my way to the Bronx. The subway stations are done with beautiful mosaics depicting each stop name on the walls. These were clearly done in an earlier time when cost didn't necessarily outweigh aesthetics in city planning. As the train gets further into the Bronx however, the mosaics get grimier and grimier. By the 149th St. station, they're barely recognizable as mosaics.

At the Stadium I pick up my ticket at the "Will Call" window and head to my seat. My ticket is for Section 469, Row C, Seat 4. When I get to Section 469, I discover that Row C only has seats 5-6-7-8. After a while I realize that there are two rows for every letter, such as Row A Seats 1-2-3-4 and another Row A seats 5-6-7-8, etc. Yankee fans at Red Sox games can be pretty obnoxious, (and somehow I suspect that Red Sox fans in Yankee Stadium probably don't put Bostonians in the best light) but the fans here seem pleasant enough, judging by their overall tone. It's hard to tell exactly though, because no one around me speaks English.

If you think beer prices at Fenway are high, try shelling out $6.25 for a draft beer at the Stadium. A 24 oz. beer out of the can is over $7.

After the game I stop at a bar outside the stadium for a drink to let the crowd thin out before hopping back on the train. The bars around Yankee Stadium are only open on game days, and not for too long after games.

Back to Shawn's, and I ask him how his day on the job was. He tells me that his first order of business was to respond to a domestic call where two drunken brothers had been arguing, and one had stabbed the other. He?s had worse days though, having been shot at twice, although on one occasion he wasn't the intended target.

Next, Shawn takes me on a tour of his precinct in Harlem. The perception of Harlem to many outsiders is that it is a dangerous place, and not many white people from out of town that I know of dare venture into Harlem, so I'm privileged to have a personal escort who is packing. Bill Clinton has moved into Harlem and the popular notion is that the borough is becoming gentrified, a politically correct way of saying that white people are moving in. Though this is somewhat true of Bubba's new digs, Shawn?s area is predominantly Dominican with the rest of the demographic make-up being black.

As we drive we drive up Broadway the area is alive with activity. Parents with children sit on the benches that are on the median strip that divides the road. Men sit on car hoods eating dinner. Others sit on stoops and play cards or dominoes, and some just hang out.

Then we take a right onto 144th Street. Bags of trash line each side of the street. Most of the houses are nice on the outside, though Shawn says that many are a nightmare on the inside. One can only imagine the glory of these buildings in an earlier time.

We pass an occasional boarded up house. Some of the buildings have "No Trespassing" signs on them. Shawn explains that while some of the less reputable landlords have agreements with drug dealers, giving them keys to the buildings in exchange for kickbacks, some honest landlords participate in a "No Trespassing" program with police. Residents will call and individuals that police find in the buildings who don't live there, know anybody living there or have any legitimate business there can be arrested for trespassing. This is designed to give families a place to live where one doesn?t have to fear walking out of one's apartment and into the hallway.

Per my request, we drive by the famous Cotton Club, but I don't think it's the original one. It's surprisingly small, and I imagine that if Duke Ellington's orchestra were in there, there wouldn't be much room for anyone else. We also take a drive past the Apollo Theater, which seems to be under renovation, and the tenements that used to be the site of The Polo Grounds, once home to the New York Giants who would later move to San Francisco.

After my Harlem tour, we head back to Shawn's. He has to work an extra long day tomorrow and has some errands to run, so Im on my own tonight. I jump on the subway and get off at Rockerfeller Center, but perhaps due to it being a Sunday night there doesn't seem to be much going on there, so I walk up to Times Square where the electricity is not limited to the massive electronic advertisements. Aside from the hordes of tourists, there are sidewalk vendors galore. There must be two dozen artists doing portraits or caricatures, or at least waiting to. One man offers to sell me a Rolex watch for $25. Perhaps the most original entrepreneur is a man holding a sign that says "Tell me off for $2." In some parts of the country you can do that for free.

I'm pretty hungry and looking for a nice sit down restaurant, but there seems to be mostly fast food places in Times Sq. Finally I ask a doorman who sends me around the corner to a place called "Carmine's."

When I tell the woman at the front desk that I'm a party of one, she explains that this is a "family style" restaurant meaning that they serve extra large portions designed for 2-3 people, which explains why a plate of ravioli is $21. Upon my request she recommends a rib place down the street, but before I reach there I find a Mexican restaurant, Viva Pancho?s which is more to my taste.

After dinner I stop at B.B. King's blues club where the marquee reads "Live Music--No Cover Charge." Well, I guess you don't need a cover charge when you charge $6 a beer. The band is terrific and during an instrumental, a small elderly black woman near the stage begins dancing suggestively during the song, much to the delight of the crowd and the guitarist, who begins to tailor his licks to her moves. After a while, I call it a night.

Part II

Mon. Aug. 26---Shawn and I get on the train, he's headed to work and I?m headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I catch a bus to the corner of 86th and 5th Ave. where the ?Met? can?t be missed. As I walk towards it, I can?t help but admire it?s large classical Greek columns. I also can?t help but notice the large sign out front that says ?Closed on Mondays.?

Fortunately the sign has listings of other places that are open, so I walk a few blocks down to The Guggenheim Museum. Whenever I hear the name ?Guggenheim? I automatically associate it with ?Crazy Guggenheim,? a character created by the late Frank Fontaine and portrayed on the old Jackie Gleason Show. The character, in today?s terms was ?mentally challenged,? yet people thought nothing of having a few laughs at his expense back then. One can only imagine the appropriate uproar that would be initiated today if some actor, say Martin Short, tried to introduce a character like that called ?Mentally Retarded Bob.?

(I must note here that there is some question as to whether or not Fontaine?s character was merely drunk. That?s not my childhood recollection, and in researching it I came across the liner notes for Tom Lehrer?s musical-comedy album That Was The Year That Was. The first track is ?National Brotherhood Week? and in the notes Lehrer makes a joke about a TV special for ?National Make-Fun-of-the-Handicapped Week? as starring Jerry Lewis and Frank Fontaine.)

Though the Guggenheim has some traditional works, much of what they feature is avant-garde. Some of it I can?t explain to you, and some of it I could, but I?d rather not. The most important part of the trip here is that I pick up a city guide which has a subway and bus map.

After the Guggenheim I jump on the subway and head downtown. Getting off at City Hall, I decide that my first order of business is to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. When it was built it was without a doubt one of mankind?s greatest technological and architectural feats, and is still an impressive sight to behold. There is a walkway in the center, above the traffic which has been there since it?s completion so that people of the day could enjoy a walk above the horse and buggies on a pleasant day.

As I cross over the East River towards Brooklyn, the hours glued to my television set come into play as I can?t get the theme from the show Welcome Back, Kotter out of my head. Once over the bridge I realize that I would like to have some record of this trip, so I scout around until I find a store where I purchase one of those disposable cameras for $14.

Heading back towards Manhattan, I ask a few people to take some photos of me on the bridge and everyone is more than happy to oblige. I usually instruct them what to get in the background, but I can tell that some of them aren?t paying close attention to my instructions. I can only wonder what I?ll see when these photos are developed.

Back in downtown Manhattan it?s now lunchtime and I stop in at a Houlihan?s for a bite. While eating my salad, I notice something scooting across the floor near my right foot. Being in New York, my first inclination is to think that it?s a cockroach, but upon closer inspection I see that it is a small mouse who has just run under my seat.

I burst out with an Ed MacMahon-esque ?Hey-oooo!? which draws a couple of looks. Uncertain as to what to do about it, other than hope he doesn?t crawl up my leg, I consider my options while he apparently was doing the same under my chair.

I finally decide that they probably deal with this all the time and that food items are kept safe, at least that what I force myself to believe. I?ve come to the conclusion that I shouldn?t make a big deal out of it and finish my meal and he runs off into a corner.

My next stop is one that I don?t eagerly anticipate. So far I?ve looked forward to each destination with glee, but now I?m heading one block over to Ground Zero and it something I don?t want to see, yet I do, or rather feel that I must.

Three sides of the site are blocked off to the viewing public, with a viewing stand set up for the vast numbers of people who?ve come to witness the devastation. People seem to have come from all over the world to the WTC site, as there are numerous languages that can be heard.

Perhaps it is just in my head, but the specter of the towers are everywhere my whole time in this city. Never has two non-existent, or should I say no longer existing structures cast such an immense shadow.

A woman who is a native New Yorker seems to revel in her status as someone who once worked there and can point out where things once were. On one side you can see several levels of a parking garage, it?s sides sheared off. You can also see the curvature of a tunnel where a train once brought people, now gone, to work.

It?s been a humbling experience and I head further south down Broadway. I pop into Trinity Church, a beautiful structure just down the street. I?m not a deeply religious person, but after viewing the WTC site, my time of quiet contemplation in here seems appropriate and is somewhat moving.

After a while I walk down to Battery Park where I get tickets for the ferry to Ellis Island. Security to get onto the ferry is tougher than at the airport as I am forced to empty my pockets, remove my watch and my belt. I didn?t have to go that far at either of the two airports I was at the last time I flew in March.

The boat stops first at Liberty Island where you can get off and walk around the Statue of Liberty, but it?s getting late in the day and since 9-11 tourists are no longer permitted into the statue, so I opt to stay on the ferry and go right to Ellis Island.

The restoration of Ellis Island is impressive and I get to see much of it before they close down, but there are so many photo captions to read and interactive items that one could spend all day there. Like some 100 million Americans, my ancestors likely came to this country through Ellis Island, unless of course they were stowaways. Thus, I figure to go back some day if I ever get the chance.

The tour is over and I?m dying for some Italian food in Little Italy. On my way there I stop at Federal Memorial Hall on Wall St. where the nations first capitol stood. I have my picture taken with George Washington, a statue of him that is (I?m told that the real one?s been dead for some time), on the spot where he was inaugurated as our first president.

I walk to an area that my map says is Little Italy, which is right next to Chinatown. The problem is that streets that are labeled ?Little Italy? on my map are still lined with Chinese restaurants. Finally I come upon the Mulberry St. which has the Italian Restaurants that I?m looking for.

Not knowing one eatery from another I stop at the first one I see. It?s a nice place and the service is fine, but the ravioli is frankly, just OK. There are pizza places in Stoneham that serve ravioli that?s twice as good, but half the price. Yet, when that ask ?How is everything?? I sheepishly say ?Fine.?

After dinner I decide to head back to Times Square so I get on the subway, as does a man with a guitar. When the doors close he announces ?This one?s for all the music lovers? and begins singing a ballad. I don?t recall anyone making a request. He departs at the first stop getting a dollar from one rider.

I get off at 42nd St. and mistakenly go through a turnstile that has a gate locked on the other side, preventing departure through that exit. Left with no alternative I try to jump back over the turnstile, but wind up kicking it so that it spins around and smashes into my shin. The people who are also heading to this exit are kind enough not to laugh, but I know they saw this gaffe. I try to act like it didn?t hurt, and tell them that this exit is locked and walk away trying not to limp, or for that matter, cry.

In Times Square I head to the ESPN Zone. If you?re in a different city and you want to catch your team?s game on TV, your best bet is an ESPN Zone. They have numerous TV?s carrying games from all over the country, and I get to watch the Red Sox marvelous comeback which is capped by a Johnny Damon home run in the bottom of the ninth.

Tue. Aug. 27---After breakfast at Tom?s, I head off to the Met which is open today. It?s a vast museum, and I know that even a full day there won?t allow me to see everything, so I don?t even bother with sections that don?t interest me.
There is both a restaurant and a cafeteria in the same space so I get in line for the restaurant, see the prices on the menu, and then move to the line for the cafeteria.

After lunch I pay $6 for headphones for the Thomas Eakins exhibit, which is very impressive. At 4:00 I decide that it?s time to leave the museum and head back to Shawn?s to retrieve my things and hop on the subway. The trip back to Shawn?s takes a little longer than I expect, and I leave Shawn?s at 5:00 to get on the subway, which I hope will get me to Penn. Station in time for my 5:20 train back to Massachusetts.

There are more stops between 110th St. and Penn. Station than I recall having been on my trip in. I continuously look at my watch as though doing so will somehow speed up time. The subway gets to Penn. Station at 5:20 exactly. Naturally, there is a massive crowd of people at this time of day getting off the subway, and I have to fight my way through the crowd. Inside the terminal, all I see are signs for local trains. I figure I missed my train anyway, so I dig my ticket out of my bag and look at it and realize that it is a 5:40 train, so I can still make it. I ask someone where the Amtrak platform is and make my way there.

Unlike the Westwood station where I walked in the station and right to the platform with no problem, here they have a woman at the top of the escalator checking tickets for anyone trying to get down to the train platform.

As a result, there is a bottle-neck of travelers. Time is running short, and people?s patients are getting thin. I squeeze through the crowd and board the train, once again with a few minutes to spare.

The four hour train ride home proves to be relaxing and allows me time to digest the events of the past few days.

The long running perception of New Yorkers has been that of people who are rude, uncaring, or will rip you off at the drop of a hat. (See the original The Out of Towners.)

Yet, I found everybody to be friendly and courteous and helpful, with the exception of a couple of subway token vendors who always seem to have more important things to do than deal with customers. Most of these things seem to involve adjusting their radio.

Perhaps it?s been an unfair stereotype. Perhaps New Yorkers have changed somewhat since Sept. 11., or perhaps I was just in the right places at the right time.

I had a great time, but I?m still not going to root for the Yankees.