Just another Friday night in the bigger picture, tonight is one I have been imagining and visualizing for a couple of years, I’ve been looking forward to it. It is also one that I knew would happen eventually, though I wasn’t altogether sure of how, but once I locked in, I was sure I would be at this point. Of course, I didn’t know the details, but I knew that I’d be somewhere in New Jersey, prepared and ready to walk across a bridge into Harlem and add 100 city blocks to the last tally of this little walk I took in 2019.
It is always exciting to arrive in New York, to me at least. There’s something about NYC that I love - actually, there are quite a few things. I’ve never lived there, not something I’m planning on, but I’ve always enjoyed getting there and the days I’ve spent, which have spanned thirty some years. I don’t think one ever fully forget the first time.
My first visit was back in 1978. I was seventeen and had just spent a semester just north of Toronto, Ontario, on a high school exchange program. I flew into La Guardia, where my dear Dad was waiting. It was a Saturday at about noon. We got into a cab, and within a few minutes we were on 125th Street, Harlem, the Apollo. I can still see it perfectly. Instead of turning south, as most tourist did back then, we headed north, up into the hundred and sixties. I don’t recall the exact street but remember the venue perfectly. Dad and I were meeting up with my uncle Peter and aunt Claudia, whose brother Brooks was an incredible jazz pianist, a protege of Duke Ellington’s, a white kid from Manhattan. And here we were in a smoky Harlem bar, listening to Brooks and friends, which that day included Sonny Greer and Willy “the lion” Smith. jazz legends. I hadn’t heard of either of them but remember perfectly how cool the music was that day. It was quite and introduction to NY.
Dad was on a business trip for the week, so I had a lot of time to just putz around, and putz around I did, all over the place. We were staying at the Waldorf, which besides being totally cool, was great, because the little Safari bar didn’t card anyone, and I could actually order and drink a beer, omg. My choice back then was a Heineken. Then one fine day, being a totally naive 17-year-old, I ventured into the Lower East Side in search of reggae records, LPs, that is, vinyl. I already had the three reggae albums available at Tower Records on Times Square, so I checked around, probably relying on the yellow pages, for this thing we call the Internet was still being invented. Once I found something, off I went, happy in my ignorance, hardly noticing the neighborhood changes from Park Avenue to the LES. Back then it was pretty rough, but I was determined to get some fresh reggae. I found my little record store and boldly walked in. I don’t think anyone saw me for a while, it was quite foggy inside, I mean, really foggy, It might also have been smoke of some kind, out of which emerged a dreadlocked dude with a “what the hell are you doing here?” look on his face. Uh… “d’you guys have any reggae records?”. Yah was the answer. I got it, quickly looked through the small selection of albums, bought four of them and got out of there fast. I walked back to my temporary home, concerned that if a cop were to smell my clothes, I would immediately be arrested.
Many cool trips to NY have happened since, different circumstances and stages of life. I’m sure I’ll be reminded of them over the next week, as I was earlier today when I walked under Hwy 17 coming into the Saddle River area. Last time I was on that highway I was in a rented van along with the rest of the University of California at Davis polo team, coach and supposed assistant coach, who was really just a guy we all liked and made for a great party. We had landed in Newark, and were headed up to Unadilla, NY, for a practice match before heading to Darien, CT for the National Intercollegiate Championships. In Unadilla, we were hosted by the Chamber’s brothers, who provided horses and the arena, great competition and quite a bit of excitement. It’s a miracle any of us made it to Darien after four chukkers of what amounted to war! There was a huge door that essentially made it impossible to get out the arena, and these boys were tough, but it was a great match. I hadn’t thought about it in years but seeing Hwy 17 and having a little walking time today, it was fun to think about.
My little walking time today was great, a lovely farewell to New Jersey, the great surprise! Spent all day walking through neighborhoods, which I love, occasionally catching the whiff of a clothes dryer. It was 14 miles, and more of a continuum of villages and towns all melded into one. There were lots of trees, lawns, nice roads, and appropriately, some unpredicted cold rain at around noon. But then the sun came out and everything started shining again. Very nice penultimate day. And now, being late, I leave you, for tomorrow I actually have a time schedule I have to observe, something I’ll have to get used to again. I’ll let you know how tomorrow goes :-)
