People in New York are amazing.
They live in a pressure-cooker. (We had one of those when I was a kid -
did you?) Some people survive better than others.
New York moves fast, and so do its people. Yet, if you ask for
directions, three or four people will stop to help. (Just don't say,
"Can you help me, please?" It's the panhandler's plea.)
I love bus
conversations - both the ones you get into and the ones you overhear.
A couple of weeks ago, a woman at a bus stop asked me for directions, and we got into a conversation about the nature of man - whether aggression was hardwired into us. I mentioned a book I was reading - Our Inner Ape - and someone else tried to jump into the conversation to plug her own book. Then the bus came, and we went to our separate seats.
Then yesterday, I overheard an elderly white woman talking to a middle-aged (and very tall) black man. He was (she said afterwards) a former pro basketball player, who was now studying architecture, and had traveled widely. Her father, she said, had been an architect - both artist and engineer, so he could design a building and build it. She had started out in life as a mathematician, realized that, while she loved math, she didn't enjoy the jobs that a math degree qualified her for. So she switched to working as a guide to the art of New York, which is what she did for 35 years. I would have liked to talk more to her, but a seat became available a few feet away, and I grabbed it.
A few years ago,
when I was working as a freelance computer consultant, I had a client I
met in a bookstore. She was 80-something, I think, and writing her
autobiography, and I helped her write it on a computer. We talked,
and I found her life fascinating.
She told me she had worked for the French Resistance during World War II , met a boyfriend nicknamed Killer (for "Ladykiller"), and had in fact written a book about it.
Recently, I thought of Googling her, and found out she was really something. Her name was Mary Jane Gold, and she was a rich American socialite, living in Paris when the Germans invaded. With thousands of others, she went to Marseilles, where she met "Killer", and worked to help more than 2,000 people escape the Nazis, including artists Marc Chagall and Max Ernst. They arranged visas and phony passports, sheltered refugees and arranged escape routes.
When I knew her, she lived in a French-inspired penthouse on the East Side with her little dog. The place looked like an old Paris apartment - I loved it. But now I wish I'd paid more attention to the artwork on the walls!
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Steve and I get into conversations with strangers all the time. Here are a few of
them.
John - met in a bar in the village. A former professional boxer,
complete with tattoos, he's now a
professional dogwalker.
We talked about yoga, back exercises, and vitamins.
Al - a barfly in our neighborhood dive. He looks like one, too -
until you notice his hands. Broad, flat hands, incredibly strong.
Turns out he and his much younger wife own several karate studios, and
they have six black belts between them, in different styles of martial
arts. Definitely somebody to have on your side.
Nameless woman - she asked for a light for her cigarette. Steve gave her a cigarette, a light, and we stopped to chat. She squinted to see, and explained that she needed cataract surgery, but had to come up with the money for the co-payment. Understand, now - she wasn't panhandling, she just wanted to talk. A neighbor, passing, said "Hi, sweetheart." She told us about living in the neighborhood for 30 years, the landlord who wanted her out, and the (many) cats that had been taken away from her by the courts. She needed to get herself back on her feet, she said, she knew that, but she wasn't sure how. Then, evidently thinking she had overstayed her welcome, she said a pleasant goodbye, waved, and she went one way and we went the other.
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Ouch!ILast night I was on the street a
couple of blocks from home. I crossed the street, and came up to
some tough-looking kids - two guys and two girls. And one of the
girls said to me, "Doesn't he look great in those shoes?" I
looked, and saw he was wearing women's shoes, and carrying a
purse which was an obvious match for what one of the girls is
wearing (she was wearing oversized sneakers). He was laughing in
an embarrassed way, especially when I burst out laughing. He
said, "How do you women walk in these?" I said, "Better than you
do!" and they all laughed. Then they walked ahead of me up the
street.
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Celebrity spotting
It's a fun game in New York - celebrity spotting.
The funny thing is, sometimes you can spot them just because of the expectant look - "You know who I am, right?"
Politeness says you don't bother them. Most are patient with fans' interest, but occasionally they get exasperated. I saw actor Gabriel Byrne with his family at a street fair in Greenwich Village one day, very angry with someone who had taken their photo without asking, although everyone there had cameras and was photographing everyone else.
Some celebrities I've seen over the years:
Barbara Barrie.
There I was, having breakfast/lunch in my local coffee shop, when she
walked in with a younger woman who was probably her daughter. They
were having an early lunch
too, I guess. You know Barbara Barrie, right? Among
hundreds of screen credits, she was Barney Miller's wife.
Concetta Tomei (in China Beach, among others). I was riding the bus across town when she hopped on, laden down with shopping.
Diane Salinger, one of the stars of Carnivale, my favorite HBO show ever. Her character is the comatose Appolonia, all in black, but Diane is a vibrant redhead.
A near miss - Nick Stahl - star of Carnivale. Turned out he spent an afternoon killing time in my local bar - on the one Saturday afternoon we went to a street fair instead of eating lunch there!
Leonard Nimoy, hiding in a hooded jacket as he hurried up Columbus Avenue.
Tyne Daly, rushing down Broadway, obviously late for her matinee performance. (She was doing "Gypsy" at the time.)
Richard Thomas (last week - bumped into him in a crowd on Broadway).
Robin Williams, whom I liked a lot more before I saw him sitting in an outdoor cafe on Madison Avenue, his chair blocking the sidewalk, pitching a fit because people kept bumping into his chair.
Beyoncé Knowles and Jay Z - I didn't recognize the young woman who crossed the sidewalk in front of me, golden skin, golden hair, all legs and confidence, but someone nearby gasped, "Did you see that? Beyonce and Jay Z."
In one memorable Broadway show audience, many years ago - Barbra Streisand, Dustin Hoffman and Robert Duvall. Barbra made her way out a couple of rows in front of me, and to my surprise, I realized how small she actually is. At the time, she was best known for roles like "Hello Dolly" - where she appeared much taller.
Kim Cattrall (Sex and the City's Samantha), eating breakfast in a coffee shop, as tourists photographed each other at their "first breakfast in New York," without realizing that a well-known face was at the table right behind them.
David McCallum - after Ilya Kuryakin ("Man from U.N.C.L.E.") and before Ducky Mallard (NCIS). One of my all-time favorites!
Jerry Ohrbach - may he rest in peace. I was riding the crosstown bus a year or so ago, when Jerry stepped aboard. His friends went to the back, but he was waylaid by an elderly woman. He could have smiled politely and joined his friends, but instead, he sat down next to her, signed an autograph, and chatted for several blocks. When he got up to join his friends, she was glowing!
Josh Groban - passed the restaurant where we were eating lunch. Does he live in my neighborhood, I wonder?
Joan Rivers - I was strolling up Madison Avenue one day, eyes on the ground, and ahead of me, I saw a pair of very pretty, expensive pink shoes with very high heels. My eyes followed up from the shoes - amazingly skinny legs, a very short, bright pink skirt - suit - a teeny tiny dog in her arms, and finally, a double-take when I got to the face. She looked so much like she does on TV!
More cool links
Social Barbies
There I was, at the Metropolitan Opera House, for a performance of Giselle, by the American Ballet Theater. Sounds glamorous, but since it was a week night, most of the audience, like me, was dressed for work. (Except for some little girls in floaty dresses - clearly ballet enthusiasts.)
The two women sitting next to me, on the other hand, took my breath away. Literally - I haven't smelled perfume like that in years. These two women were grown-up Barbie Dolls. In their forties, one slightly older than the other, they were thin, beautiful (touched up by a lot of makeup, and some very artful plastic surgery), blonde (I could live for a month on what they must have paid for that color), dressed exquisitely in "blonde" colors - honey gold and pink, and purses to match. I even eyed their manicures wistfully - mine never look like that. You've seen Kathy Hilton ("So You Want to Be a Hilton")? That's what they looked like.
In all fairness, they were very nice, and obviously enjoyed the performance, clapping elegantly at all the right moments. But I guess they live in another world from my New York.