My neighborhood really out did itself this year with the fire works. The fire crackers were not up to par, definitely not as numerous as last year’s July 4thcelebration; lacking in quantity – definitely – which you would expect I reckon, seeing how far we are still into the ‘Great Recession’ but there were some shudderingly really big booms to make up for the lack of fire cracker’s crackle; we get enough gun shots around here almost all the time anyway –;
But the fireworks - now they – or someone, brought that affair, those explosive light shows in the dark sky to a whole new level…
What the neighborhood may have lost in quantity from last year’s crackle & fireworks show they, or someone, on this evening of this year’s 4th certainly made up for with quality – I am talking Macy’s quality.
I mean the show, the experience, unbelievable – extraordinary!
I have never seen such a display coming out of a residential neighborhood and I am watching this unbelievable display from my 7th floor window. I am impressed, can’t help myself!
Why would I want to? It is the 4th. And it is in evenings such as this I reminisce as to the meaning of the day and what all brought me to this spot on the 7thfloor in my life and I feel lucky, perhaps, to be alive.
The bombs, the shells are being thrown up from a rise about maybe 10 blocks west of m. And this fire works display went on sporadically for three hours or more into the night and into early morning; now there, in terms of duration, they – whoever ‘they’ are - certainly beat Macy’s and maybe even more representative than Macy’s in the spirit of rebellion and the persistence of revolution & war the shells being thrown into a dark foreboding sky in an independence struggle; I am not really sure although it seems so; there had to be a risk in all this rebellious activity.
And between the fire crackling and stout booms echoing off tall buildings and tenement walls a missile screams across the sky trailing twirling ribbons of color and colorful sparks falling to earth; Macy isn’t too good at that either; no tenement walls echoing anymore on the shores midtown of the Hudson.
And all this is coming from a poor neighborhood in the South Bronx – least they supposed to be poor; trust me some are definitely poor.
So I am sitting in the comfort and in the relative(?) safety of my apartment thanking my lucky stars and I can not help thinking who, who is doing this – who is responsible for this display?
Whose got the money? Whose got the money to purchase these, I am sure, expensive shells? And they just throw them away throw them up high into the dark sky, blasting off from a rise in this Bronx neighborhood; blasting off the highest rise in the neighborhood does help with the final height of the explosion of the glitter & sparkles & streamers showering alluring beauty almost scary beauty falling down to earth, and there I began to chuckle – am I crazy? Pay for fireworks? This is the South Bronx!
Those shells have had to have fallen off a truck’s back end.
I eased carefully into another tact on that line of thinking…But still, off a truck or not – who would do this? Take the chance & time to give a bit of enjoyment in this neighborhood and in some ways certainly outdoing Macy’s.
Then I am thinking gangs – perhaps as a payback to their neighborhood, Robin Hood style, and no doubt be an excellent recruiting tool for the young – Hell at that moment even I considering offering my meager services & skills – I am living in their South Bronx neighborhood enjoying a spectacle I would have never believed, never imagined…
Earlier that day I had taken a walk up that rise west and down the other side to a park; actually it is a rather huge park given the neighborhood.
It is about a block & a half wide and 10 blocks long, right up to Yankee Stadium; there is even a pretty big swimming pool in the middle of the park.
I went to the park because a friend I had recently made, he told me; actually he came to visit me at my apartment, unannounced, yesterday evening – my first visitor from the neighborhood; I have finally arrived!
He was inviting me to this park and he is telling me they are having a July 4th barbecue there in this park and he told me to call him the next day and he would come by and take me there, walk me over that rise and down the other side into the park.
Well I couldn’t find my cell phone that next morning; that is always a chore in itself, one I am really rarely up for even in the worst of circumstances. It would mean I would have to clean my apartment – ee - gads – this is July 4th! It is a holiday – I am on vacation; I can’t work today!
Anyway I figured I would just walk over the hill by myself, I’ve done that walk before; I could do it and find him in the park; it wouldn’t be that difficult…well I was in for a surprise.
Even walking over the hill was a chore…the sidewalks were filled with families and extended families and, and hangers on filling the sidewalks barbecuing, actually barbecuing in the middle of the sidewalks and with all the people hanging about & some dogs & some few cats I decided me trying to walk through that mess of people and animals might be considered a ‘dis’ (an act of disrespect) and with the quantity of enough empty beer cans and bottles and who the hell knows what else (I know) already littering the curb this early in the afternoon I decided taking the high road, actually this path is already rising up the hill.
The best approach is for me to be walking in the street, in the street, when even on the best days and especially given this celebrating day the choice is only the lesser of two evils; I wonder if some in this neighborhood understand what this celebration is all about; maybe they all actually do.
Anyway I got to the park coming down the other side of the hill and as I approach the park I could not believe my eyes – every way, every where are clumps and groups, some very large groups of people of all ages and sizes and colors and a cacophony of sounds; there had to be thousands.
As I looked across the great expanse of the park I realized finding my friend would be a daunting almost impossible task and I felt some regret – but I figured I would give this search a try – every few feet, and I mean that is about how fast you could travel with the young kids screaming – zooming about on their little two wheel shiny bicycles in complete abandon – you – I rather, you are taking your life in your hands; and helmets? Please. Is it a law? I need one.
And along the asphalt pathways every few feet camped or settled in or mostly plopped on the ground, some on the grass, others on dirt, it seemed not make a difference as I slowly passed another clump of family and extended family and hangers on and etc, etc…with the tables set up and canopies pitched and more tables stacked with food, some of the food familiar. some of the food definitely not so familiar - and I have been around - and always the ubiquitous dominos with old men laughing and at every clump a boom box or for those sites staked at the edges of the park a thick electrical cable snaked to a powerful looking SUV, then in that camp site, a veritable sonic boom of almost, almost stadium quality – if not quantity.
The cacophony of sounds & dodging these little skamps & miscreants on zooming bicycles & skateboards in complete abandon and disregard and throwing hard balls for catch in this crowd – and water balloons!
Wow! Dodged that one!
OK – that’s it! My head is spinning swimming – and I decided to go; obviously. There was no way I was going to find my friend in this – mess!
And then all of a sudden I see this face looking back at me – looking up at me in between he trying to put a key into a lock, a small lock locking a Port-a Potty door.
He looks up at me and I see a spark of recognition; he knows me! And he extends a hand and we shake and I still don’t exactly remember him but I am getting this feeling it might be from that neighborhood Dominican bar I sometimes frequent and where I had met my other friend, the one who invited me here and where, at that bar, he is the Bouncer Supremo and you can imagine or maybe even understand why I might not be able to exactly remember this man, meeting him here today in bright hot afternoon sunlight, not sure if I recognizing him from that Dominican bar and considering what all happens, or can happen, in a South Bronx bar; it makes some sense, but he sure remembers me!
I guess that shouldn’t be such a surprise…
Anyway he knows me and I have found a friend in this mess!
He goes back to trying to fit a key into this little brass pad lock on this Port-a-Potty door that is surly separating him from a blissful nirvana.
He suddenly gives up and puts the pile of keys – he is literally carrying piles of keys of all sizes and shapes on two large silver key rings; I realize he has been trying to pick the lock on that Port-a-Potty door! Is this what life is coming to?
“You don’t have the key?” I ask.
“Nah, I got this little one I thought would work.” He says dejectedly, I sensed, he still fingering, looking at that little key from the rest; I figure he was sure it would have worked, the little key, the little soldier had failed him and he seemed now without recourse, none of the others would do.
Then this big fat black woman comes up and says to him this is not a public Port-a-Potty; it belongs to that woman over there but she is not around now and I thought Oh My God they carry in their own commercial grade Port-a-Potty to this event?! (Port – a – Potty’s are all commercial grade, right?); and we are in the middle of this teaming park!
And I am thinking does she need a permit for this thing; dragging it into the middle of the park?
“So what are you going to do?” I ask him. “How about the public bathroom?” as I gaze out over this mass of humanity and I suddenly realize I have not seen a public bathroom yet, other than this locked Port-a-Potty.
And he just shrugs as we are walking slowly away (that is the only way you can walk in these environs unless you are a young little squirt).
“What about the pool?” I gestured to the pool behind us, the public pool; though more than 500 yards away I can hear the kids screaming in her waters and he says to me
“No, they’re closed.”
and I am thinking – Jesus – the color of that water now with all those screaming kids…
“So what are you going to do? Piss behind a bush and get a ticket?” (though, I have yet to see a cop here in this park; can you imagine with all this surging humanity?) and I am thinking what are all these people going to do with beer bottles and soda cans piling up and it was hot as hell in the sun.
He seemed to have a plan but apparently not going to reveal the plan to me and he told me that he had not seen my friend ‘Cuba’ yet this day though he was expected and we slowed at a cross roads in the park and he stopped extending his hand and he said “Well…” and I understood and there would be no way I would be a ‘hanger on’ in anyone’s barbecue on this Independence Day awaiting my big bouncer friend ‘Cuba’ to show and I understood and I told him to tell ‘Cuba’ I was here looking for him and he said he surly would and we left each other that hot afternoon and I negotiated my way safely (thank God) out of the Park and decided to get on the 4 train that borders the east side of the Park (it’s air conditioned (I hope to hell!)) and headed downtown.
I was ruminating on about my bouncer friend ‘Cuba’. He was actually no longer a bouncer, having recently slashed the tires of a particularly prominent customer who had insulted him; such are the high emotions flowing through this, my South Bronx neighborhood.
I got off at Grand Central to see what is going on in Bryant Park behind the great Library on the 4th of July.
When I say ‘night & day’ between the two parks I mean, in no uncertain terms, the difference between ‘night & day’ – no barbecue cooking, surely – OK maybe a whiff once in a while a whiff of Marijuana but even that is pretty rare in Bryant Park – too many under-covers; pretty much from there the similarities end – stops even –; a very nice bathroom there at Bryant Park and as always a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers placed delicately on the sink in the Men’s Room and I am sure there is a bouquet in the Women’s Room - probably prettier; when I say this is the most beautiful most cleanly public bathroom facility in the City – I mince no words.
After the bathroom I went to the out door reading space and picked up a Monday’s NY Times paper, sat down on a chair under a very nice umbrella and casually read today’s news, listening to little birds chirping, looking about the park, reading of the goings on in the world as I watched, casually, the beautiful people leisurely strolling in the quietness of the park and its comfortably open paths and sometimes I paid a closer attention & interest to a particular tourist. It seemed a lot of Asians that day (thank God) and northern Europeans it seems…
After about an hour of this relaxation I heard on a rather disturbingly loud loudspeaker the powers who be were about to open the great green lawn in the middle of the park at 5 PM in preparation of showing that evening’s film on this huge screen that fronts the west side of that very green very beautiful lawn; she is explaining: no chairs no blankets no plastic lay downs (ruins the grass for others etc, etc.); Easy Rider will be playing at 9 –; well as great a film as that is (although many – some? - thought differently back in the day) I decided to move on.
One reason I wanted to move on is that I have this ‘one month unlimited’ Metro card – one could even consider the card a ‘pass’, perhaps, though that idea may be dangerous; I wanted to use that card soo bad since I had been laid up sick, by maybe food poisoning – it was all vegetables and beans for God’s sake!
Even though I cook my own food I had not cooked some exotic garnish I had purchased in an unfamiliar store as part of a mission to make an interesting bean salad. THIS IS A WARNING: be careful of unfamiliar garnish - uncooked? Laid me out for four days throwing up and then the other end; OK, maybe what afflicted me was just a hell of a mean 48 hour virus; it happens though rarely to me – no matter – I was pissed! I wanted FULL VALUE off my unlimited Metro card and feeling I had gypped myself (or the garnish had) of the value of that card me being laid down & out for four days and I’d be damned not getting my value due! Maybe the Scottish in me; and so this being the 1st day I felt capable, kinda normal, I could at least walk in public without fear – you know - I am going to use the hell out of this card; that is how crazy I am.
Perhaps I am crazy just this one day, today, because I am recovering from a sickness and feeling stronger, finally; maybe that is what is making me crazy just this one time, feeling all this energy after days of barely moving.
So I took the bus down 5th Avenue; really a very nice an almost scenic ride if you had never, and it is a Limited! What luck! So we made almost no stops and we passed the place I once lived, 20 5th Avenue, as the bus turned left on 8th street and I turned my head, still staring at the canopy: 20 5th, – man I have come so far, such a long way in life.
A few moments later we were in the University District and the bus’ last stop and I got off; there were only a few of us left; the few others were obviously tourists looking all confused in the stopped bus though they all got off, looking confused and I got off and walked down Broadway into Chinatown – I love Chinatown for obvious reasons.
I knew where I am going yet I did not want to, not ready to, commit.
I looked at the fruit and vegetable offerings pushing onto the sidewalks – pints of blueberries for $1.50! - $1.00! Tempting, very tempting;…I love blueberries and considering I had not eaten for nearly 4 days, almost a week really if you consider the run up (and run out) – but no – I did not want to carry them 2 pints because I had finally decided to commit; I am taking the D train to Coney Island.
I am a NYC kid yet I had yet to go to Coney Island on the 4th of July and now having an unlimited Metro card itching in my pocket, stubbornly passing up the blueberries, I went down below at Grand Street & swiped my card excitedly –yeah!- another usage!
Well I got down to the platform and it is crowded and I am thinking good sign! a train is surely on the way! Then I am thinking, bad sign – you rarely see this platform this crowded, even at rush hour, and at Grand this platform is very thin, very dangerous this crowded, and I am thinking: Shit! The D is up there somewhere stuck uptown and I will never get to Coney Island today; then I am thinking man, if the train ever does come it will be packed! Packed! And it is so hot on the crowded platform, very hot.
Well the D finally rumbles in and it wasn’t packed, crowed, yes, and after we all got in it was almost packed and while it did thin out a bit as we headed for Coney Island, that being its last stop; that wasn’t nothing compared to what was coming.
At Coney Island it was unbelievable as perhaps you might expect – the pandemonium – the amount of people, the quantity, leaving and arriving; four train lines end and pull out from here.
People huffing & stuffing & trying to move up or down the concrete stairs coming from or going to those train platforms; you, I could barely move and the cursing and the shouting and grumbling – way worse than any midtown rush hour scene you or certainly I had ever seen or ever witnessed – and the equipment!
We are not talking here of a business man’s neat brown leather attaché case or even once in a while you see in the subway a wheeling black suit case; no, we are talking beach umbrellas on long poles & huge coolers & very important beach balls, (trust me on those large colorful beach balls; kids screaming) and baby carriages – oh my God the sizes of which I have never seen – quadruplets!! All crushed together stuffed cheek to squeezing jowl on these now harrowing claustrophobic clogging narrow concrete stairwells struggling people trying to get up and trying to get down and you know; I am sure you are aware of this old chestnut that often times makes living in NYC livable or at least survivable without a fight: ‘stay to your right’.
For some reason some, many, in my ghetto, for instance, are either unawares of this chestnut of advice or doing the opposing act on purpose as a sort of rebellion, veering left, actually commanding, demanding, the dark(?) side of the sidewalk – Hell it is Independence Day, do what the fuck you want! Saliva and blood dripping from one’s mouth…
For some reason some people are not so good at accepting or understanding that old chestnut of advice.
You may be able to imagine the most numerous of these violators in their personal hell all crammed, a whole mess of ‘em crammed, packed together every which way in this concrete enclosed stairwell cursing and shoving and sun burnt and sweating and frustrated – what a stink! – “I want to go home!” the baby cries! As some others I am sure do too.
“I want to go to the beach!” other babies wail, the people trying to force their way down the stairs and up the stairs – hey, we are all in this together – right? In spite of Independence Day?
Conflicting desires always a brewing problem.
But on the 4th of July?!
Of course, where and what better a day? And one wrong move – or ‘dis’ perhaps mistakenly misinterpreted - the umbrella poles come out even in this enclosed now haunting place & fuck the children!
Troubling, those struggling in frustration to make their way on Independence Day; it really is easier than this. Isn’t it? Stay to your right?
Well I finally made my way down and out of that hell and nobody pushed me – that would have been impossible so packed we all were struggling for a certain sort of release and independence.
In that tight crowded stairwell the brilliance, the genius, the usefulness of that old chestnut came into full flower that afternoon; at least for me it did.
Finally extricating myself from the station proper and that troubling mayhem, I found myself on Surf Avenue facing Coney Island only having to cross the street (yeah right).
I did cross the street and now approaching the boardwalk some hundreds of yards off and the crowd is spreading out a bit, given the ever more wider openings; space allowing now, and I looked up in amazement at two of the many new rides a renovated Coney Island is bringing to us all.
These two stood out because these two were the closest and certainly, close up, the tallest – one had to be 15 stories high – more! Two opposing arms circling rigidly as clock hands though it seemed to me more deadly and I looked in awe and in amazement and I have to admit, fright.
Each opposing arm, each 100 feet at least long or more, 200 feet apart, end from end, tip to tip, rotating, whipping. inscribing a huge circle in the sea air with a small, very small group of people stuffed screaming at the ends of each arm so many hundreds of feet apart, eight poor souls in a huddle banded together in a tip, screaming on small seats much as I could tell as this spinning whirling specter of death proceeded whirling with eight in an open vulnerable pod stuck at each long end of these opposing rotating skewers circumscribing a wide arc swinging quickly towards the ground as the people howled then just as quickly turned up into the sky screaming and in the middle of the whirling giant fiend, in the center of this whirling specter of death, as the two long arms rotated around is a hellish frightful face of a Humpty Dumty frozen puppet or even a Jack in the Box frozen at the top of his game; at the apex of an explosion popping out from his box with evil wide frenzied eyes and even more sinister smile in full, bearing all his bright white hungry teeth; it is a shuddering sight with those two long arms rotating about him as captured prey spinning to their death.
Right next to him was another contraption.
Two very tall poles set apart as goal posts standing 100 yards apart and 200 feet tall and strung over the tops of these two poles is a long cable starting from aside one pole, one end of the cable on the ground rolled around a huge winch then strung over the top of one pole then crossing the abyss between the two poles and the cable strung over the top of the other pole and back down to another winch, holding fast on the other side, bolted onto a cement pad poured on the ground.
And in between the two poles resting in the middle, on that cable, resting dangerously, I am thinking anxiously, is attached to the cable a tiny pod housing four terrified souls and through the amazing magic of engineering or just sheer magic the ends of the cable would be pulled from each side the winches groaning wildly winding up very quickly and the poles would bend and groan and the cable would be pulled away each from an end pulled away from each other with such fearousity and force and speed the pod riding precariously on the cable is being flung, flying up into the blue sky and then the pause for a moment at the cable’s, and by attachment, the pod’s, apex, high above the tops of those very tall poles and then gravity would be denied no longer, the pod containing those few sorry souls plummeting in free fall back to mother earth and all the while the sorry souls within that cage screaming, screaming all the while – ahh woo is me – stopping just short of disaster and then the cage is hurled back into the heavens as a rubber band pulled taught then sprung, the poor souls screaming all the time…
I could look no longer and turned away in unease and even fright.
As I turned away from the devilish unholy sight edging towards the boardwalk a large mouth opened from the side of a wall and whispered “Enter” as I peered into a black dark maw surrounded by glistening fangs and though others were waiting in line to enter; I backed away – I would not be fooled although I did not – could not see enough ahead to realize I was entering another hell.
The Coney Island boardwalk is packed – packed I tell you! You could not move – I mean I could but only as the crowd moved, and although I would like to be able to comment on the desirability and even the functionality of the newly renovated boardwalk I can not – I could not even see the boardwalk not being able to look down so packed we are as sardines in a can although indeed I can comment on the functionality: the boardwalk did not collapse in what obviously one can only reckon is under ‘maximum load’!
I was finally pushed to the southern edge of this morass and I could see pieces of the blue ocean and then I thought I am looking at the beach in front of me or where I supposed the beach to be, but indeed all I saw was an undulating brown like mass, a rippling brownish mass with some few brighter colorful spots as in a loosely woven rug and then I realized that brownish mass are people and their closely held beach accoutrements and I was aghast, packed so tightly there not even a grain of sand visible – oh my God – I had never seen such sights and hope to never again.
I finally got popped out of the pressing crowd and found myself in front of the public baths – a bathroom is a very important place to be after having your kidneys squeezed dry and your bladder held in tight repose.
The entrance labeled ‘Men’s Room’ seemed safe enough yet what all I had seen so far I could not be sure and glancing over to my right to the entrance labeled ‘Woman’s Room’ the line to that entrance snaked around and out to a place I could not see the end and I found some comfort there in the familiarity of the sight though when I heard a whisper the wait on that line exceed 45 minutes and when one would finally find yourself inside (not me! (I piss in the street need be)); there is no toilet paper – ah woo is she…
Later that evening while winding down quietly from such a day’s experience I heard on the news that there had been quite a scene at Coney Island concerning that toilet paper (or lack there of); the 45 minute plus wait seemed to be taken in stride, and while it would not be the type of scene one could expect when the men get riled – I mean, come on, these are polite women – at least most of them – on TV the Commissioner of the Parks Department said there would be a full investigation – FULL INVESTIGATION – yeah, right – TO FIND OUT THE WHERES AND THE WHERE FORES AND THE WHY for such as this could happen; lack of toilet paper! – yeah I must set my clock, put that date on my calendar to make sure I am alert and sober and conscious so as to not miss that reporting conclusion and the mitigation.
Anyway, back at Coney Island I had seen enough and I knew, for me at least, it was time to leave – to go home.
Figuring out how to get out of here, to get through that packed crowd – I don’t want to get into the particulars – I actually entertained jumping into the ocean and swimming to Staten Island (how crazy is that?) but that would mean I would have to step on that undulating colorful spotty brown carpet; eewh.
I finally got out to a relatively less crowded sidewalk – looking at people waiting on line what would seem to me an eternity for clams on the half shell or a Nathan’s hot dog.
I looked at three cops standing almost forlornly, it seemed to me, tired for sure – it had to have been a long day and it was still hot as hell no matter an ocean breeze; the air is actually still.
Looking at those three police I wondered, I knew there would be no way to control anything in that tightly packed mass of humanity if it or a few within it decided to move the wrong way – I almost felt sorry for those three.
Now I was away from all that although still close enough, I still seeing those evil contraping instruments tossing frightened screaming souls about and around; I am sure at least one kid pissed his pants that day, and around and up and down and high into the air and that evil mask of a face still facing me grinning badly happily in evilness weird all the while staring at be with his bulging eyes showing all his bright white teeth.
There is no way I am going back to that train station and go through that nightmare; I had gotten out safe once this afternoon, I will not test fate and my luck again (often I do; not today) and since I had an unlimited Metro card itching to be used I found an empty – relatively empty – Brooklyn bus and took it to points far away from Coney Island, to a quiet subway station and I breathing a sigh of relief, although a quiet subway station in Brooklyn can be at least as dangerous as what I had just experienced in Coney Island, and to be fair, the other places this exciting day I had visited perhaps just as dangerous (even Bryant Park??) although a quiet subway station is, at least, not as annoying if damage is going to be done to me regardless; a quiet subway station not as annoying; the run up to treachery is anyway always preparing…so might as well not be annoyed in the interim.
I finally got home safely;
Do you believe it!?
I had survived screaming tykes on their 2 wheel speedsters, ill thrown hardballs, water balloons, umbrella poles, a particularly loud and possibly violent drunk – oh – did I not tell you about him? Well all of a sudden he threw up and the threat dissipated which seemed to allay the fear in that subway car for the moment though the car stunk like hell as we all moved out and through and onto other cars through those end subway car doors that are against the law to use, ahh what the hell, it is Independence Day! And I am sure my Metro card is all worn out and satisfied as am I; you have to be careful with an unlimited Metro card you know, that Metro card, almost colored in the colors of Halloween, can get you in trouble if not conservatively used.
And then the booming started and then I wondered looking out my window at the unexpected very impressive light show long into the night watching out my window into the next early morning sparkling streaming colors being thrown into a dark sky from a top that rise of a hill-
Who are those people?
Should I join them, whoever they are on this Independence Day?
I really want to.
Happy July 4th.
But the fireworks - now they – or someone, brought that affair, those explosive light shows in the dark sky to a whole new level…
What the neighborhood may have lost in quantity from last year’s crackle & fireworks show they, or someone, on this evening of this year’s 4th certainly made up for with quality – I am talking Macy’s quality.
I mean the show, the experience, unbelievable – extraordinary!
I have never seen such a display coming out of a residential neighborhood and I am watching this unbelievable display from my 7th floor window. I am impressed, can’t help myself!
Why would I want to? It is the 4th. And it is in evenings such as this I reminisce as to the meaning of the day and what all brought me to this spot on the 7thfloor in my life and I feel lucky, perhaps, to be alive.
The bombs, the shells are being thrown up from a rise about maybe 10 blocks west of m. And this fire works display went on sporadically for three hours or more into the night and into early morning; now there, in terms of duration, they – whoever ‘they’ are - certainly beat Macy’s and maybe even more representative than Macy’s in the spirit of rebellion and the persistence of revolution & war the shells being thrown into a dark foreboding sky in an independence struggle; I am not really sure although it seems so; there had to be a risk in all this rebellious activity.
And between the fire crackling and stout booms echoing off tall buildings and tenement walls a missile screams across the sky trailing twirling ribbons of color and colorful sparks falling to earth; Macy isn’t too good at that either; no tenement walls echoing anymore on the shores midtown of the Hudson.
And all this is coming from a poor neighborhood in the South Bronx – least they supposed to be poor; trust me some are definitely poor.
So I am sitting in the comfort and in the relative(?) safety of my apartment thanking my lucky stars and I can not help thinking who, who is doing this – who is responsible for this display?
Whose got the money? Whose got the money to purchase these, I am sure, expensive shells? And they just throw them away throw them up high into the dark sky, blasting off from a rise in this Bronx neighborhood; blasting off the highest rise in the neighborhood does help with the final height of the explosion of the glitter & sparkles & streamers showering alluring beauty almost scary beauty falling down to earth, and there I began to chuckle – am I crazy? Pay for fireworks? This is the South Bronx!
Those shells have had to have fallen off a truck’s back end.
I eased carefully into another tact on that line of thinking…But still, off a truck or not – who would do this? Take the chance & time to give a bit of enjoyment in this neighborhood and in some ways certainly outdoing Macy’s.
Then I am thinking gangs – perhaps as a payback to their neighborhood, Robin Hood style, and no doubt be an excellent recruiting tool for the young – Hell at that moment even I considering offering my meager services & skills – I am living in their South Bronx neighborhood enjoying a spectacle I would have never believed, never imagined…
Earlier that day I had taken a walk up that rise west and down the other side to a park; actually it is a rather huge park given the neighborhood.
It is about a block & a half wide and 10 blocks long, right up to Yankee Stadium; there is even a pretty big swimming pool in the middle of the park.
I went to the park because a friend I had recently made, he told me; actually he came to visit me at my apartment, unannounced, yesterday evening – my first visitor from the neighborhood; I have finally arrived!
He was inviting me to this park and he is telling me they are having a July 4th barbecue there in this park and he told me to call him the next day and he would come by and take me there, walk me over that rise and down the other side into the park.
Well I couldn’t find my cell phone that next morning; that is always a chore in itself, one I am really rarely up for even in the worst of circumstances. It would mean I would have to clean my apartment – ee - gads – this is July 4th! It is a holiday – I am on vacation; I can’t work today!
Anyway I figured I would just walk over the hill by myself, I’ve done that walk before; I could do it and find him in the park; it wouldn’t be that difficult…well I was in for a surprise.
Even walking over the hill was a chore…the sidewalks were filled with families and extended families and, and hangers on filling the sidewalks barbecuing, actually barbecuing in the middle of the sidewalks and with all the people hanging about & some dogs & some few cats I decided me trying to walk through that mess of people and animals might be considered a ‘dis’ (an act of disrespect) and with the quantity of enough empty beer cans and bottles and who the hell knows what else (I know) already littering the curb this early in the afternoon I decided taking the high road, actually this path is already rising up the hill.
The best approach is for me to be walking in the street, in the street, when even on the best days and especially given this celebrating day the choice is only the lesser of two evils; I wonder if some in this neighborhood understand what this celebration is all about; maybe they all actually do.
Anyway I got to the park coming down the other side of the hill and as I approach the park I could not believe my eyes – every way, every where are clumps and groups, some very large groups of people of all ages and sizes and colors and a cacophony of sounds; there had to be thousands.
As I looked across the great expanse of the park I realized finding my friend would be a daunting almost impossible task and I felt some regret – but I figured I would give this search a try – every few feet, and I mean that is about how fast you could travel with the young kids screaming – zooming about on their little two wheel shiny bicycles in complete abandon – you – I rather, you are taking your life in your hands; and helmets? Please. Is it a law? I need one.
And along the asphalt pathways every few feet camped or settled in or mostly plopped on the ground, some on the grass, others on dirt, it seemed not make a difference as I slowly passed another clump of family and extended family and hangers on and etc, etc…with the tables set up and canopies pitched and more tables stacked with food, some of the food familiar. some of the food definitely not so familiar - and I have been around - and always the ubiquitous dominos with old men laughing and at every clump a boom box or for those sites staked at the edges of the park a thick electrical cable snaked to a powerful looking SUV, then in that camp site, a veritable sonic boom of almost, almost stadium quality – if not quantity.
The cacophony of sounds & dodging these little skamps & miscreants on zooming bicycles & skateboards in complete abandon and disregard and throwing hard balls for catch in this crowd – and water balloons!
Wow! Dodged that one!
OK – that’s it! My head is spinning swimming – and I decided to go; obviously. There was no way I was going to find my friend in this – mess!
And then all of a sudden I see this face looking back at me – looking up at me in between he trying to put a key into a lock, a small lock locking a Port-a Potty door.
He looks up at me and I see a spark of recognition; he knows me! And he extends a hand and we shake and I still don’t exactly remember him but I am getting this feeling it might be from that neighborhood Dominican bar I sometimes frequent and where I had met my other friend, the one who invited me here and where, at that bar, he is the Bouncer Supremo and you can imagine or maybe even understand why I might not be able to exactly remember this man, meeting him here today in bright hot afternoon sunlight, not sure if I recognizing him from that Dominican bar and considering what all happens, or can happen, in a South Bronx bar; it makes some sense, but he sure remembers me!
I guess that shouldn’t be such a surprise…
Anyway he knows me and I have found a friend in this mess!
He goes back to trying to fit a key into this little brass pad lock on this Port-a-Potty door that is surly separating him from a blissful nirvana.
He suddenly gives up and puts the pile of keys – he is literally carrying piles of keys of all sizes and shapes on two large silver key rings; I realize he has been trying to pick the lock on that Port-a-Potty door! Is this what life is coming to?
“You don’t have the key?” I ask.
“Nah, I got this little one I thought would work.” He says dejectedly, I sensed, he still fingering, looking at that little key from the rest; I figure he was sure it would have worked, the little key, the little soldier had failed him and he seemed now without recourse, none of the others would do.
Then this big fat black woman comes up and says to him this is not a public Port-a-Potty; it belongs to that woman over there but she is not around now and I thought Oh My God they carry in their own commercial grade Port-a-Potty to this event?! (Port – a – Potty’s are all commercial grade, right?); and we are in the middle of this teaming park!
And I am thinking does she need a permit for this thing; dragging it into the middle of the park?
“So what are you going to do?” I ask him. “How about the public bathroom?” as I gaze out over this mass of humanity and I suddenly realize I have not seen a public bathroom yet, other than this locked Port-a-Potty.
And he just shrugs as we are walking slowly away (that is the only way you can walk in these environs unless you are a young little squirt).
“What about the pool?” I gestured to the pool behind us, the public pool; though more than 500 yards away I can hear the kids screaming in her waters and he says to me
“No, they’re closed.”
and I am thinking – Jesus – the color of that water now with all those screaming kids…
“So what are you going to do? Piss behind a bush and get a ticket?” (though, I have yet to see a cop here in this park; can you imagine with all this surging humanity?) and I am thinking what are all these people going to do with beer bottles and soda cans piling up and it was hot as hell in the sun.
He seemed to have a plan but apparently not going to reveal the plan to me and he told me that he had not seen my friend ‘Cuba’ yet this day though he was expected and we slowed at a cross roads in the park and he stopped extending his hand and he said “Well…” and I understood and there would be no way I would be a ‘hanger on’ in anyone’s barbecue on this Independence Day awaiting my big bouncer friend ‘Cuba’ to show and I understood and I told him to tell ‘Cuba’ I was here looking for him and he said he surly would and we left each other that hot afternoon and I negotiated my way safely (thank God) out of the Park and decided to get on the 4 train that borders the east side of the Park (it’s air conditioned (I hope to hell!)) and headed downtown.
I was ruminating on about my bouncer friend ‘Cuba’. He was actually no longer a bouncer, having recently slashed the tires of a particularly prominent customer who had insulted him; such are the high emotions flowing through this, my South Bronx neighborhood.
I got off at Grand Central to see what is going on in Bryant Park behind the great Library on the 4th of July.
When I say ‘night & day’ between the two parks I mean, in no uncertain terms, the difference between ‘night & day’ – no barbecue cooking, surely – OK maybe a whiff once in a while a whiff of Marijuana but even that is pretty rare in Bryant Park – too many under-covers; pretty much from there the similarities end – stops even –; a very nice bathroom there at Bryant Park and as always a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers placed delicately on the sink in the Men’s Room and I am sure there is a bouquet in the Women’s Room - probably prettier; when I say this is the most beautiful most cleanly public bathroom facility in the City – I mince no words.
After the bathroom I went to the out door reading space and picked up a Monday’s NY Times paper, sat down on a chair under a very nice umbrella and casually read today’s news, listening to little birds chirping, looking about the park, reading of the goings on in the world as I watched, casually, the beautiful people leisurely strolling in the quietness of the park and its comfortably open paths and sometimes I paid a closer attention & interest to a particular tourist. It seemed a lot of Asians that day (thank God) and northern Europeans it seems…
After about an hour of this relaxation I heard on a rather disturbingly loud loudspeaker the powers who be were about to open the great green lawn in the middle of the park at 5 PM in preparation of showing that evening’s film on this huge screen that fronts the west side of that very green very beautiful lawn; she is explaining: no chairs no blankets no plastic lay downs (ruins the grass for others etc, etc.); Easy Rider will be playing at 9 –; well as great a film as that is (although many – some? - thought differently back in the day) I decided to move on.
One reason I wanted to move on is that I have this ‘one month unlimited’ Metro card – one could even consider the card a ‘pass’, perhaps, though that idea may be dangerous; I wanted to use that card soo bad since I had been laid up sick, by maybe food poisoning – it was all vegetables and beans for God’s sake!
Even though I cook my own food I had not cooked some exotic garnish I had purchased in an unfamiliar store as part of a mission to make an interesting bean salad. THIS IS A WARNING: be careful of unfamiliar garnish - uncooked? Laid me out for four days throwing up and then the other end; OK, maybe what afflicted me was just a hell of a mean 48 hour virus; it happens though rarely to me – no matter – I was pissed! I wanted FULL VALUE off my unlimited Metro card and feeling I had gypped myself (or the garnish had) of the value of that card me being laid down & out for four days and I’d be damned not getting my value due! Maybe the Scottish in me; and so this being the 1st day I felt capable, kinda normal, I could at least walk in public without fear – you know - I am going to use the hell out of this card; that is how crazy I am.
Perhaps I am crazy just this one day, today, because I am recovering from a sickness and feeling stronger, finally; maybe that is what is making me crazy just this one time, feeling all this energy after days of barely moving.
So I took the bus down 5th Avenue; really a very nice an almost scenic ride if you had never, and it is a Limited! What luck! So we made almost no stops and we passed the place I once lived, 20 5th Avenue, as the bus turned left on 8th street and I turned my head, still staring at the canopy: 20 5th, – man I have come so far, such a long way in life.
A few moments later we were in the University District and the bus’ last stop and I got off; there were only a few of us left; the few others were obviously tourists looking all confused in the stopped bus though they all got off, looking confused and I got off and walked down Broadway into Chinatown – I love Chinatown for obvious reasons.
I knew where I am going yet I did not want to, not ready to, commit.
I looked at the fruit and vegetable offerings pushing onto the sidewalks – pints of blueberries for $1.50! - $1.00! Tempting, very tempting;…I love blueberries and considering I had not eaten for nearly 4 days, almost a week really if you consider the run up (and run out) – but no – I did not want to carry them 2 pints because I had finally decided to commit; I am taking the D train to Coney Island.
I am a NYC kid yet I had yet to go to Coney Island on the 4th of July and now having an unlimited Metro card itching in my pocket, stubbornly passing up the blueberries, I went down below at Grand Street & swiped my card excitedly –yeah!- another usage!
Well I got down to the platform and it is crowded and I am thinking good sign! a train is surely on the way! Then I am thinking, bad sign – you rarely see this platform this crowded, even at rush hour, and at Grand this platform is very thin, very dangerous this crowded, and I am thinking: Shit! The D is up there somewhere stuck uptown and I will never get to Coney Island today; then I am thinking man, if the train ever does come it will be packed! Packed! And it is so hot on the crowded platform, very hot.
Well the D finally rumbles in and it wasn’t packed, crowed, yes, and after we all got in it was almost packed and while it did thin out a bit as we headed for Coney Island, that being its last stop; that wasn’t nothing compared to what was coming.
At Coney Island it was unbelievable as perhaps you might expect – the pandemonium – the amount of people, the quantity, leaving and arriving; four train lines end and pull out from here.
People huffing & stuffing & trying to move up or down the concrete stairs coming from or going to those train platforms; you, I could barely move and the cursing and the shouting and grumbling – way worse than any midtown rush hour scene you or certainly I had ever seen or ever witnessed – and the equipment!
We are not talking here of a business man’s neat brown leather attaché case or even once in a while you see in the subway a wheeling black suit case; no, we are talking beach umbrellas on long poles & huge coolers & very important beach balls, (trust me on those large colorful beach balls; kids screaming) and baby carriages – oh my God the sizes of which I have never seen – quadruplets!! All crushed together stuffed cheek to squeezing jowl on these now harrowing claustrophobic clogging narrow concrete stairwells struggling people trying to get up and trying to get down and you know; I am sure you are aware of this old chestnut that often times makes living in NYC livable or at least survivable without a fight: ‘stay to your right’.
For some reason some, many, in my ghetto, for instance, are either unawares of this chestnut of advice or doing the opposing act on purpose as a sort of rebellion, veering left, actually commanding, demanding, the dark(?) side of the sidewalk – Hell it is Independence Day, do what the fuck you want! Saliva and blood dripping from one’s mouth…
For some reason some people are not so good at accepting or understanding that old chestnut of advice.
You may be able to imagine the most numerous of these violators in their personal hell all crammed, a whole mess of ‘em crammed, packed together every which way in this concrete enclosed stairwell cursing and shoving and sun burnt and sweating and frustrated – what a stink! – “I want to go home!” the baby cries! As some others I am sure do too.
“I want to go to the beach!” other babies wail, the people trying to force their way down the stairs and up the stairs – hey, we are all in this together – right? In spite of Independence Day?
Conflicting desires always a brewing problem.
But on the 4th of July?!
Of course, where and what better a day? And one wrong move – or ‘dis’ perhaps mistakenly misinterpreted - the umbrella poles come out even in this enclosed now haunting place & fuck the children!
Troubling, those struggling in frustration to make their way on Independence Day; it really is easier than this. Isn’t it? Stay to your right?
Well I finally made my way down and out of that hell and nobody pushed me – that would have been impossible so packed we all were struggling for a certain sort of release and independence.
In that tight crowded stairwell the brilliance, the genius, the usefulness of that old chestnut came into full flower that afternoon; at least for me it did.
Finally extricating myself from the station proper and that troubling mayhem, I found myself on Surf Avenue facing Coney Island only having to cross the street (yeah right).
I did cross the street and now approaching the boardwalk some hundreds of yards off and the crowd is spreading out a bit, given the ever more wider openings; space allowing now, and I looked up in amazement at two of the many new rides a renovated Coney Island is bringing to us all.
These two stood out because these two were the closest and certainly, close up, the tallest – one had to be 15 stories high – more! Two opposing arms circling rigidly as clock hands though it seemed to me more deadly and I looked in awe and in amazement and I have to admit, fright.
Each opposing arm, each 100 feet at least long or more, 200 feet apart, end from end, tip to tip, rotating, whipping. inscribing a huge circle in the sea air with a small, very small group of people stuffed screaming at the ends of each arm so many hundreds of feet apart, eight poor souls in a huddle banded together in a tip, screaming on small seats much as I could tell as this spinning whirling specter of death proceeded whirling with eight in an open vulnerable pod stuck at each long end of these opposing rotating skewers circumscribing a wide arc swinging quickly towards the ground as the people howled then just as quickly turned up into the sky screaming and in the middle of the whirling giant fiend, in the center of this whirling specter of death, as the two long arms rotated around is a hellish frightful face of a Humpty Dumty frozen puppet or even a Jack in the Box frozen at the top of his game; at the apex of an explosion popping out from his box with evil wide frenzied eyes and even more sinister smile in full, bearing all his bright white hungry teeth; it is a shuddering sight with those two long arms rotating about him as captured prey spinning to their death.
Right next to him was another contraption.
Two very tall poles set apart as goal posts standing 100 yards apart and 200 feet tall and strung over the tops of these two poles is a long cable starting from aside one pole, one end of the cable on the ground rolled around a huge winch then strung over the top of one pole then crossing the abyss between the two poles and the cable strung over the top of the other pole and back down to another winch, holding fast on the other side, bolted onto a cement pad poured on the ground.
And in between the two poles resting in the middle, on that cable, resting dangerously, I am thinking anxiously, is attached to the cable a tiny pod housing four terrified souls and through the amazing magic of engineering or just sheer magic the ends of the cable would be pulled from each side the winches groaning wildly winding up very quickly and the poles would bend and groan and the cable would be pulled away each from an end pulled away from each other with such fearousity and force and speed the pod riding precariously on the cable is being flung, flying up into the blue sky and then the pause for a moment at the cable’s, and by attachment, the pod’s, apex, high above the tops of those very tall poles and then gravity would be denied no longer, the pod containing those few sorry souls plummeting in free fall back to mother earth and all the while the sorry souls within that cage screaming, screaming all the while – ahh woo is me – stopping just short of disaster and then the cage is hurled back into the heavens as a rubber band pulled taught then sprung, the poor souls screaming all the time…
I could look no longer and turned away in unease and even fright.
As I turned away from the devilish unholy sight edging towards the boardwalk a large mouth opened from the side of a wall and whispered “Enter” as I peered into a black dark maw surrounded by glistening fangs and though others were waiting in line to enter; I backed away – I would not be fooled although I did not – could not see enough ahead to realize I was entering another hell.
The Coney Island boardwalk is packed – packed I tell you! You could not move – I mean I could but only as the crowd moved, and although I would like to be able to comment on the desirability and even the functionality of the newly renovated boardwalk I can not – I could not even see the boardwalk not being able to look down so packed we are as sardines in a can although indeed I can comment on the functionality: the boardwalk did not collapse in what obviously one can only reckon is under ‘maximum load’!
I was finally pushed to the southern edge of this morass and I could see pieces of the blue ocean and then I thought I am looking at the beach in front of me or where I supposed the beach to be, but indeed all I saw was an undulating brown like mass, a rippling brownish mass with some few brighter colorful spots as in a loosely woven rug and then I realized that brownish mass are people and their closely held beach accoutrements and I was aghast, packed so tightly there not even a grain of sand visible – oh my God – I had never seen such sights and hope to never again.
I finally got popped out of the pressing crowd and found myself in front of the public baths – a bathroom is a very important place to be after having your kidneys squeezed dry and your bladder held in tight repose.
The entrance labeled ‘Men’s Room’ seemed safe enough yet what all I had seen so far I could not be sure and glancing over to my right to the entrance labeled ‘Woman’s Room’ the line to that entrance snaked around and out to a place I could not see the end and I found some comfort there in the familiarity of the sight though when I heard a whisper the wait on that line exceed 45 minutes and when one would finally find yourself inside (not me! (I piss in the street need be)); there is no toilet paper – ah woo is she…
Later that evening while winding down quietly from such a day’s experience I heard on the news that there had been quite a scene at Coney Island concerning that toilet paper (or lack there of); the 45 minute plus wait seemed to be taken in stride, and while it would not be the type of scene one could expect when the men get riled – I mean, come on, these are polite women – at least most of them – on TV the Commissioner of the Parks Department said there would be a full investigation – FULL INVESTIGATION – yeah, right – TO FIND OUT THE WHERES AND THE WHERE FORES AND THE WHY for such as this could happen; lack of toilet paper! – yeah I must set my clock, put that date on my calendar to make sure I am alert and sober and conscious so as to not miss that reporting conclusion and the mitigation.
Anyway, back at Coney Island I had seen enough and I knew, for me at least, it was time to leave – to go home.
Figuring out how to get out of here, to get through that packed crowd – I don’t want to get into the particulars – I actually entertained jumping into the ocean and swimming to Staten Island (how crazy is that?) but that would mean I would have to step on that undulating colorful spotty brown carpet; eewh.
I finally got out to a relatively less crowded sidewalk – looking at people waiting on line what would seem to me an eternity for clams on the half shell or a Nathan’s hot dog.
I looked at three cops standing almost forlornly, it seemed to me, tired for sure – it had to have been a long day and it was still hot as hell no matter an ocean breeze; the air is actually still.
Looking at those three police I wondered, I knew there would be no way to control anything in that tightly packed mass of humanity if it or a few within it decided to move the wrong way – I almost felt sorry for those three.
Now I was away from all that although still close enough, I still seeing those evil contraping instruments tossing frightened screaming souls about and around; I am sure at least one kid pissed his pants that day, and around and up and down and high into the air and that evil mask of a face still facing me grinning badly happily in evilness weird all the while staring at be with his bulging eyes showing all his bright white teeth.
There is no way I am going back to that train station and go through that nightmare; I had gotten out safe once this afternoon, I will not test fate and my luck again (often I do; not today) and since I had an unlimited Metro card itching to be used I found an empty – relatively empty – Brooklyn bus and took it to points far away from Coney Island, to a quiet subway station and I breathing a sigh of relief, although a quiet subway station in Brooklyn can be at least as dangerous as what I had just experienced in Coney Island, and to be fair, the other places this exciting day I had visited perhaps just as dangerous (even Bryant Park??) although a quiet subway station is, at least, not as annoying if damage is going to be done to me regardless; a quiet subway station not as annoying; the run up to treachery is anyway always preparing…so might as well not be annoyed in the interim.
I finally got home safely;
Do you believe it!?
I had survived screaming tykes on their 2 wheel speedsters, ill thrown hardballs, water balloons, umbrella poles, a particularly loud and possibly violent drunk – oh – did I not tell you about him? Well all of a sudden he threw up and the threat dissipated which seemed to allay the fear in that subway car for the moment though the car stunk like hell as we all moved out and through and onto other cars through those end subway car doors that are against the law to use, ahh what the hell, it is Independence Day! And I am sure my Metro card is all worn out and satisfied as am I; you have to be careful with an unlimited Metro card you know, that Metro card, almost colored in the colors of Halloween, can get you in trouble if not conservatively used.
And then the booming started and then I wondered looking out my window at the unexpected very impressive light show long into the night watching out my window into the next early morning sparkling streaming colors being thrown into a dark sky from a top that rise of a hill-
Who are those people?
Should I join them, whoever they are on this Independence Day?
I really want to.
Happy July 4th.
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