Sunday in Fall River and Fenway

Sunday’s are for sleeping late, but not this Sunday. It was road trip time with my friend Bob. So, I was up before the crack of 8:00!

OK – I know that’s sleeping in for most people. Remember, I live in the east, but operate on Hawaiian time.

We stopped for a quick container of coffee, dropped my car off at New Haven’s Union Station and headed eastward on the Connecticut Turnpike. Because the Turnpike is also I-95, this east-west route has signs referring to north and south.

It still drives me nuts!

Saturday night late, I had received this cryptic little email from another Bob friend, in Florida.

HVN: Temp: 80F Dewpt 78F

midnight

amazing

78&#176 for a dewpoint temperature represents Calcutta-like steam. It was very warm and very sticky Saturday night and nothing, except the Sun beaming down, had changed by Sunday morning.

With a Google generated map and directions in hand, we headed toward Somerset, MA and WSAR, scene of one of Bob’s earliest jobs and my first. There was never any thought that 36 years after my last time there, WSAR had moved. In fact, the only question was, how much was still the same?

In a poetic, romantic world, I’d now tell you about all the memories that rushed back to me as we drove up. The truth is, I could only vaguely make a connection. That surprised me.

The building is the same. It’s at the end of Home Street, on the edge of a neighborhood of modest homes. Beyond WSAR’s field of towers, a huge power plant poked out through the very thick haze.

Amazingly, someone was at the station. We think he was the manager of what now is a little mom and pop two station facility. WSAR is news, talk and sports. Its sister station, formerly WALE is all Portuguese.

The inside of the building had been changed, as you might expect after all this time. The man at the station told us to walk around and take a look.

We didn’t stay long.

I think Bob got more out of this than I did. I wish I would have made more of a connection with my past. Working at WSAR was such a seminal moment in my professional life.

Heading north, we stopped at a mall in Taunton for breakfast/lunch and then proceeded to Boston. It was very hazy. Nothing about the Boston skyline that was distinct. Everything was sort of placed within the murkiness.

We maneuvered up Storrow Drive, off at Arlington Street and then across Back Bay to a garage under the Prudential Center. I thought it would be a good idea to park at the Pru and then take the subway&#185 to Fenway.

We got to the platform only to see signs cautioning that no dollar bills would be accepted on the train. The three token machines were not working. There was no token clerk. What to do?

We popped back up at street level and walked into the Colonnade Hotel. Most business are bothered by subway change seekers and I understand why. But, we really needed the change, so I did everything I could to look like a touristy hotel guest. Having my camera slung over my shoulder didn’t hurt.

Oh, by the way… contrary to the many posted signs, you can use dollar bills on the subway. The driver puts them in a slot on the side of the change machine. I have no idea what happens to them at the end of the run.

It didn’t take long to get to Fenway. It is just beyond the Mass Pike, a few blocks from Kenmore Square. The neighborhood looks like it was industrial – the buildings have that kind of feel.

Crowds of happy people (the Red Sox are in first, after all) were heading toward the stadium.

Immediately, I began to sense a different vibe than I had felt at Yankee Stadium. Maybe it was the fact you could see the stadium as you approached it or the banners on its brick exterior? Maybe it was the cluster of stores across the street?

Whatever it was, it was not Yankee Stadium. Since Yankee Stadium was a disappointment, this was a good thing.

We found a man selling tickets and lucked into great seats. The luck wasn’t the site lines or distance from home plate – both of those were what we expected and quite good. The luck was being under cover in the grandstand, as you shall see.

We walked through a security screening and into a throng of people moving past the concession stands. It felt good. I don’t know why. It felt right. It was old and cramped but totally appropriate in a way Yankee Stadium was not.

We walked into the stands and gazed at the stadium. It’s a gem. The stadium has a small feel to it. And, I guess next to a 50-60,000 seat park, it is. Our seats were up the first base line, directly opposite from the green monster.

I was pleased to see restraint in the advertising signs on that big, green wall. They were all green and white. They fit in.

The first inning was rocky for the Red Sox. They finally retired the White Sox without a run, but it was obvious Matt Clement wasn’t throwing his best stuff.

There would be plenty of time to think about that, because as the first half inning ended, the heavens open, accompanied by deep throated thunder.

How glad was I, at this moment, that our seats were under cover? We watched as most of the lower deck and other exposed seats cleared out.

Within a few seconds the players and umps had left the field and the grounds crew was in charge, covering the base cutout and pitcher’s mound and unrolling the tarp.

This is something I had seen on TV, but never in person. The tarp is immense, covering the entire infield and skinned areas of the field. It went on quickly.

As a meteorologist (Wow, I can now refer to myself that way), I was concerned that they were placing themselves in harm’s way during the storm. You would expect a lightning strike to hit a light tower or other taller structure… but it could easily strike someone on the field, or in the stands, I guess.

It rained as hard as I’ve ever seen. Sheets of rain poured down. Most people moved to shelter. Others, resigned to getting soaked, stayed where the were.

At one point, security guards on the field were issued yellow slickers. By this time they were already soaked to the bone. I tried to figure out the value of this late move? By this point, the slickers were just holding in the moisture already there.

The rains stopped and the crew came back to remove the tarp. Now, what was heavy was heavier. The tarp was loaded with water.

By folding the tarp over itself and moving back and forth, the grounds crew was able to deposit most of the water just beyond the base paths in shallow right field. Then a groundskeeper reached down and began pulling plugs from the turf, opening drains to carry the water away.

This was nearly as good a show as the game!

Play resumed, but it wasn’t to be the Red Sox day. They were getting pummeled by Chicago. And then, it began to rain again.

We stayed a while and then, remembering there was a 6:40 train to Connecticut or a three hour wait until the one after that at 9:40, we left. Bob got off near his car and I continued, first on the Green Line and then the Red Line to South Station.

South Station is open and airy with kiosks for food, books and magazines. The ceiling and walls are largely populated by ads for Apple’s iPod. As much as I thought the green and white ads at Fenway were appropriate, I felt this was not… and I’m an iPod fan.

I went to a ticket machine to pay my way but all it wanted to sell me was a ticket at 9:40. I moved to a real person behind the counter. He gave me the bad news. The 6:40 train was sold out!

This wasn’t good. But, there was nothing I could do, yet. I got a salad, sat between a woman and her loud toddler son and a homeless person who seemed to be nodding off, and had dinner.

As train time approached, I moved toward the platform. Maybe there was someone based in New Haven on this train? Maybe I could talk my way on?

I ran into a conductor. He was from Boston, there was no doubt from his accent. I told him my plight and he said, “Don’t worry, you can sit in the Club Car.”

Easier said than done. He went to work on the train as I waited for the platform to be opened for passengers. When it finally was, my ticket was for the wrong train. They wouldn’t let me pass to get to the Club Car.

I began to panic. I was tired, extremely sweaty and I imagine quite pungent. I didn’t want to spend the next three hours at South Station.

I did something I have promised myself never to do. I took out my business card, handed it to one of the security people and asked her to ask one of the crew members (who all, except for the Club Car conductor were from New Haven) if they could help me.

Maybe I’m justifying what I’ve already done, but I thought I worded my request in such a way that it didn’t go over my imaginary line. It wasn’t a, “Don’t you know who I am” request. Well, it didn’t seem like one at the time.

As it turns out, a very nice conductor traveling with his family took mercy on me. He got me past security and onto the train. And, during the course of the trip I got to meet everyone who was “working on the railroad, all the livelong day.”

Here’s the more amazing corollary to this story. The sold out train couldn’t have been more than half full! Why did Amtrak think it was full and refuse to sell tickets? I have no idea. I would guess I wasn’t the only one prepared to spend another three hours in Boston… and some people probably did.

So, there’s the Boston trip… except for one little thing. As it turns out, after we left, the Red Sox waited and waited and waited and finally postponed the game. My two tickets are eligible to be replaced with tickets for another game.

I’m looking forward to returning to Fenway.

&#185 – I guess it officially fits the definition of subway, but Boston’s Green Line is just trolleys in a tube with some of the ugliest, dingiest stations ever seen by man. I have no doubt I was safe and never felt otherwise. It was just the subway time forgot.

Father’s Day With My Father

This is the last full day of my parent’s visit – time for another trip into New York City.

Usually, on Sunday trips, we drive. Steffie asked if we could take the train and I said yes. I’m not entirely sure it was a good idea, though a street fair on 6th Avenue and the Yankees game probably slowed things down.

We left around 10:00 AM and headed to New Haven’s Union Station. Our train was local through Connecticut, but from Stamford it went non-stop to 125 Street in Harlem and then Grand Central Terminal.

We talked about people we knew, people from Connecticut, who claimed to never have been to New York City. That stuns me, though I know it’s true. There’s so much to do in the city that you can’t do anywhere else.

Actually, as a kid I always thought I’d grow up and move to New York. Even as an adult there were times when I thought my career would take me there. At this point it probably won’t happen.

Living in New York is convenient and cumbersome at the same time. Getting anything home – like grocery shopping, is an incredible hassle. Then there’s the noise and the crowds. On the other hand, if you live in the city, you can get anything delivered to you at any hour of the day or night.

New York is the only city in the world with twenty four hour room service!

And, you can walk to where you’re going. Walking is the major advantage city life has over anything else. It’s funny how we think of the suburbs or country as healthier living, but New Yorkers certainly walk more than my neighbors do. They surely walk more than I do.

And, of course, whatever you want to do – it’s there! Movies, museums, restaurants, culture, crap – it’s there.

We got off the train at Grand Central and headed to the Museum of Modern Art. I’ll have to hand it to Stef. She kept her word. I know she had no desire, but she went with the rest of us into the museum.

MOMA is unlike most museums in that there are no classics – everything is new, meaning 20th or 21st century.

We headed to the fourth floor and started scouting around. Some of the work is spectacular. Some of the work is ridiculous. Some of the work seems to be saying, “Can you tell I’m trying to fool you?”

The man on the left is staring at a painting that lists the world’s 1,000 longest rivers, in order. Is it art? Actually, I liked it!

Yes, there are single colored canvasses – just a solid blue canvas, for instance. Is that art? MOMA thinks so. I’m not so sure.

Then there are the works of Picasso, Gauguin, Klee, Lichtenstein and Jackson Pollock (he of the paint splatters seemingly sprayed at random on a canvas). Andy Warhol‘s soup cans are there too.

It’s all a little overwhelming. Standing next to some of these paintings is like standing next to Mick Jagger or Britney Spears because they’re cultural icons, etched into our common experience.

We couldn’t stay too long. Six months ago, before we knew my parents were coming, we had gotten tickets to see “Wicked” on Broadway. Steffie, Helaine and I had to head to the Gershwin Theater for the 3:00 PM performance.

“Wicked” is the prequel to “The Wizard of Oz.” It’s the story of how Glinda became the Good Witch and Elphaba, The Wicked Witch of the West. It’s a cute story with a great cast. As is so often the case on Broadway, the first act was better than the second, though the show ended very strongly.

For months Steffie has had “Popular,” a song from “Wicked,” on her Ipod. And for months, I had been playing it and singing along. Obsessed? Me? Sure.

If, for some reason, the conductor had suffered a wrist injury, I was ready to step in and lead the orchestra for this one song. I knew every word, every note, every bit of accompaniment in the arrangement.

It took everything I could muster to refrain from leading the orchestra from my seat.

The original cast is long gone. The current stars – unknowns to me – were very good and the staging was spectacular. We didn’t expect it, but in the cast were Ben Vereen (The Wizard of Oz) and Rue McClanahan (Madame Morrible).

It has become common for Broadway shows to have names you recognize from TV to help at the box. If these two were meant to sell tickets, they’re awfully well hidden. Of course “Wicked” doesn’t seem to need help selling tickets at the moment.

My parents met us at the theater at 6:10 and we proceeded to dinner. The five of us feasted at the Stage Delicatessen on 7th Avenue.

We were stuffed as we walked south, through Times Square, and back to Grand Central. I must have taken 10 shots of the Chrysler Building as it glistened in the golden light of the late day’s sun. It stood out so tastefully against the pure blue sky.

Our train left at 8:07 and took nearly two hours to reach New Haven, making this an awfully long day – but a great Father’s Day.

Saturday in The City

Fear, trepidation – sure, I had both with the promise of protests preceding the Republican Convention. But, the lure of knockoff handbags was too great and so we went to New York City, Saturday.

After much thought on which way to get there, I decided on driving to Stamford and catching Metro North from there to Grand Central. Then it’s a short subway ride to Canal Street.

I know, looking at my logs, that many of you reading this live far away from Connecticut or New York City, so let me give you some subway advice. There is no better, faster way to get around Manhattan than the subway. It has its shortcomings – nearly no service on the far West or East Sides and multiple routes on the same platform, going different places.

We consider it safe, though sometimes interesting. Yesterday, on the #6 train downtown, a man entered from the next car and began to tell his tale of woe in a loud, non-threatening voice. He was begging. But he never intimidated anyone (that I could see). In fact, in his spiel, he said he would not do anything untoward (OK, he didn’t use that word exactly).

More than anything, the subway gives you the feel for the real New York, which continues to be a city of immigrants. While on the platform at Grand Central, I asked Helaine how many languages she thought we could have had translated?

I’m getting ahead of myself.

We parked in the garage across the street from the Stamford station and bought three tickets with a $4 Metro Pass (subway) add-on from a machine. I must have missed a menu somewhere, as I bought an off peak/peak ticket – overpaying. The conductor pointed this out, and later at Grand Central Terminal I applied for a refund… which may or may not be mailed to me, and which forced me to be another set of off peak tickets for our return.

Neither the train or the subway were a problem. We got to Canal Street, popped back to ground level and started to sweat. It was stiflingly hot and humid. The sky was a steel gray of haze with indistinct clouds.

Canal Street was busier than I had ever seen it. Along with the Chinese and Indian merchants normally there were African men selling watches and sunglasses. I would guess they had been moved from the area, now cordoned off, that will host the Republican Convention. They sold their wares while walking along the street, as opposed to the more entrenched merchants who had tables and tiny storefronts.

While Helaine and Steffie walked along, darting into cramped little spaces, I stayed on the street snapping photos. There’s not much here I haven’t snapped before, but now I have the new camera and a chance to get a different perspective.

Throughout the afternoon, I watched at least 3 or 4 caravans of police vehicles, lights and sirens running, move through. Often there would be a marked patrol car or two, black Yukon or similar big vehicle (with police lights), a few enclosed scooters (normally used for traffic enforcement) and another marked police car at the rear.

New York is not Connecticut. Cars do not part because of lights and sirens in New York. First, there’s usually no place to part to! Second, it’s New York and even lights and sirens don’t get you an advantage.

It was quite a fruitful day for Steffie. She came home with three bags. I saw some computer books, but nothing I wanted. In the past I had seen a few software vendors, selling what could only be bootleg software. They were not evident, nor was there the normal amount of bootleg DVD dealers.

I also looked at watches. I tried on a very nice tank watch but couldn’t ‘pull the trigger.’ It was very handsome, emblazoned with the name of a very well known, high end watch company. The quality was excellent. There’s no one I know who would even suspect it wasn’t the genuine article. It will be there next time we go.

We decided to head uptown to eat. Over time, there are traditions a family develops – ours is the Stage Deli. Forty years ago my Uncle Dave was a waiter there. They don’t hold that against us.

We headed into the subway, swiping our Metro Cards to go through the turnstile. Helaine’s didn’t work. A station cleaner, not doing much but yakking on his cellphone, told us we were out of luck. This, of course, was the fear of New Yorkers when the city switched from tokens to Metro Cards. What happens if there’s trouble in a station without a token booth? We found out – you lose $2.

Well, not exactly.

Even New York has its street justice. A man getting off the train at Canal Street saw our plight. He must have had a weekly or monthly pass, allowing him unlimited rides, because he turned to Helaine and me, smiled and said, “Here, use mine.” And, she did.

We took the train to 47th and Broadway, the north end of Times Square, and prepared to walk the few blocks to The Stage. As crowded as Canal Street was, Times Square was just the opposite – empty. I looked across the street at the TKTS booth and saw something I had never seen before – no line!

On many occasions Steffie and I have gone to New York and waited 1-2 hours in line at TKTS to buy Broadway show tickets. TKTS sells unsold Broadway and Off Broadway tickets for half price, plus a small surcharge. They’re still not cheap, but it’s one of the best bargains in New York and we’ve often gotten great seats.

I checked the board and was amazed. Nearly every hot show was available – and for 50% off! We had seen Hairspray, Mama Mia, The Producers and a few others. Among the listed shows I hadn’t heard about was “The Frogs.” I asked someone nearby what they knew of it and she said two words that immediately made our decision, “Nathan Lane.”

The Frogs was playing way uptown at the Vivian Beaumont Theater in Lincoln Center on 65th Street. The Stage was on the way. Life was good.

There is nothing special about the Stage Deli – nothing that would strike you if you were only looking at it from the street. I suppose its days as a New York City show people hangout are long over. Now it’s inhabited, mostly, by tourists who vaguely connect with the name.

The Stage is known for its immense sandwiches, huge desserts and unlimited sour pickles at every table. Helaine and I had roast beef sandwiches while Steffie had a Denzel Washington – pastrami and sauerkraut under melted Swiss cheese. For dessert we shared a piece of chocolate cake the size of a Manhattan apartment.

It would have been a moderate walk to the theater, but Steffie wanted Jamba Juice, so we backtracked four blocks. While Steffie and Helaine went inside, I saw these two mounted New York City policemen. I thought the look of Times Square with horses in the foreground would make a good shot. I’m pleased with how it turned out.

I mentioned earlier how I had seen lots of police activity on Canal Street. The same was true in Times Square, including two or three policemen visible standing in front of every hotel.

It’s easy to think suburbanites should be healthy and New Yorkers flabby but reality trumps perception. New York is a walker’s city.

We headed up 7th Avenue to Central Park South, then turned west toward Columbus Circle. We passed a man, with his dog laying on the sidewalk. As hot as it was, the dog was at ease. I decided this dog led a better life than I ever would… certainly in a better neighborhood.

We crossed Columbus Circle, catching a glimpse of the Time Warner Center across the way. Along the edge of Central Park we passed a small army of protectors. They were probably there regardless of the Republican Convention, protesting political conditions in China.

There was also a lone protester with a sign complaining about the press. I asked if I could take his picture. He asked, “For who?” Me! I took the picture.

We still had a few blocks walking along Columbus Avenue to Lincoln Center. The Center itself was busy with at least two performances.

When we couldn’t find our theater, I stopped a man wearing a tuxedo shirt with no tie. He led the way, giving me the opportunity to ask if he was a ‘player.’ I meant it in the old school way… and he was – a bassist in the Mozart performance at Avery Fisher Hall.

The Vivian Beaumont Theater is one of the best performance spaces I’ve ever seen. It seats about 1,100, but with its amphitheater design and staggered seating, no one was far from the stage or without a great sight line. The stage extended well beyond the curtain, forming a semicircle big enough to mount a play (though that was not the case for The Frogs).

Our half price seats were in the 10th row, slightly to the left of center. They would have been great in any theater.

The Frogs, written by Aristophanes and first performed over 2,400 years ago (though heavily adapted and rewritten) started strong, ended weak. The Steven Sondheim score is excellent. It’s just that second act. It dragged interminably – especially during a debate between Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw.

That’s the bad news. The good news is Nathan Lane. He is amazing. After this show, I’d pay full price to see Nathan Lane read from the phone book. As I was disappointed seeing The Producers without him, I can’t imagine this show post-Lane. His presence is so strong. His timing is so exquisite.

In a way I feel sorry for Roger Bart who is wonderful as Lane’s slave. In any other cast he would receive the raves. Trading lines back and forth with Nathan Lane allows much of the show to be stronger than its script alone. The same can be said, though not quite as strongly, for Peter Bartlett.

As has happened so often recently, I was surprised by another name in the show, John Byner. He plays Charon, the boatman who crosses the River Styx to deliver Nathan Lane and Roger Bart to Hell.

Originally, the part played by Roger Bart was going to be performed by Chris Kattan of Saturday Night Live fame. Ten days before the opening he was canned. I’ve got to find the back story on that!

After the show we caught a cab to Grand Central and made the 10:10 train to Stamford. Actually, an express that left a few minutes later got to Stamford a few minutes sooner. We didn’t know that at the time.

The story should end here… but it doesn’t. We left the train station and headed to our car. The garage was, by this time, virtually deserted. We drove around and around searching for the exit! Finally, after at least 10 minutes of scouting, we saw a service vehicle. I flashed my lights to get the driver’s attention.

As it turns out, to exit this garage late at night you have to drive all the way to the roof and then connect to an adjoining garage. Unfortunately, there are no signs that say this – none!

It was a full day. We were home around 1:00 AM

Blogger’s note: All of the photos with this entry are linked to larger versions. Just click on the photo. There is also a gallery, with these photos and more, here.