My Nephew Matt Heads To New York City

I find NYC very appealing. As I’ve grown older my desire to live there has grown greater. Of course I would need to re-wife and re-job.

matt-opad.jpgWe are a small family. I have but one nephew–Matt. He flew into New York for a quick weekend visit and today I drove in to join him for breakfast.

I find NYC very appealing. As I’ve grown older my desire to live there has grown greater. Of course I would need to re-wife and re-job.

Guess no NYC.

queensboro_bridge.jpgI picked up Matt on 48th Street on the West Side, then headed crosstown finding a parking space adjacent to the building where Judge Judy lives.

Which is more surprising, that I know where Judge Judy lives or I got a free, legal, on-street parking space in Manhattan?

I suppose there are good ways to find a place to eat, but we just tried pot luck and ended up in a diner on First Avenue. Not bad. Very crowded. I had the bagels and lox special. Matt had waffles.

nyc-vertical-skyline.jpgAlong with taking Matt to breakfast I volunteered to take him to the airport. First, he asked if I’d take him to Ground Zero?

Simply put, that’s a request which cannot be turned down regardless of time constraints or circumstances.

We cut across on 34th Street past the Empire State Building, Macy’s and Madison Square Garden. As we approached the West Side I turned south, finally ending up at Vesey and West Broadway, a dead end at the edge of the pit.

ground-zero.jpgThere’s really not a lot to see. The work reconstructing the area has been very slow and plagued with disagreements and power plays.

There is a lot to feel. You just can’t go to that spot without remembering what happened.

By the time Matt got back to the car I’d made a U-turn putting me in the perfect position to almost go the wrong way on Broadway. I discovered my error just before driving into the police car pointed directly at me!

We took the Brooklyn Bridge to the BQE, passed over Newtown Creek, and then north through Queens to LaGuardia.

Hopefully Matt’s back in Milwaukee by now. It was great seeing him and worth every mile.

Matt And Geoff’s Great Brooklyn/Queens Adventure

I was born in Brooklyn and went to high school there (via a bus and two subways). I figured I’d done my time. Did I have to go back?

I asked fellow meteorologist Matt Scott if he wanted to go to the city? Helaine had business on the other side of the state and I’m drawn to New York. I know Matt is too. We just didn’t know what we’d do once we got there!

Not to make a joke of it, but even as we left Connecticut we didn’t have a clue where we’d go or what we’d do.

IMG_1552.jpg“I’ve never been to Brooklyn,” he said.

I was born in Brooklyn and went to high school there (via a bus and two subways). I figured I’d done my time. Did I have to go back?

We drove over the Throgs Neck Bridge, onto the Cross Island and then the LIE.

There are signs on the Throgs Neck stating photography is strictly prohibited. At the same time on any given Saturday and Sunday the Brooklyn Bridge is infested with thousands of tourists and locals–most with cameras. What makes the Throgs Neck so insecure? Do they really think it’s a more tantalizing target than the storied Brooklyn Bridge?

I asked Matt if he’d like to see where I grew up and went to grade school? What was he going to say? I was driving!

A few minutes later we were standing in front of PS 163. The front door was propped open. A man was outside smoking a cigarette.

“I went here 50 years ago,” I began.

Shit, that makes me sound old. Luckily, I’m immature for my age.

Before long we were in the school.

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This building is the equivalent of one of the locales for MSNBC’s prison doc block! It was a school unsuited for me run by a woman I suspect hated me. From grade two to six I suffered inside.

The only saving grace was it was an amazing school for learning–even for someone who fought learning as much as I did! PS163 was firmly grounded in “tracking.” That’s the practice of grouping students of similar abilities together. Tracking has lost favor today. I’d be surprised to hear it’s used anywhere, though it certainly benefited me. I spent five years competing in a class of overachievers.

We had no gym. We had no recess. We had little outdoor activity–ever. Imagine.

There was… there still is a large room in the front of the building where, for a few years, we did some sort of cockamamie square dancing.

I was astounded to see numbers still painted high on the walls. This was where each class lined up in the case of emergency. The numbers corresponded to room numbers. This paint job is at least fifty years old!

PS163 worked out so well I asked Matt if he wanted to see Electchester, where I grew up? Again, to my surprise he said, “Yes.”

Everything looked smaller as we wound our way through the south end of Flushing. We headed to Kissena Blvd. then the LIE’s service road and up Parsons Boulevard where I lived. I put the top up on the convertible and we got out.

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I’ve used this analogy before, but these buildings (and the ones across the street at NYCHA’s Pomonok Houses) are reminiscent of the worst of Soviet style architecture! Considering the two complexes had well over 5,000 residents we were pretty devoid of amenities and services.

Because of how our individual building was turned to the street it was always much more convenient to enter through the basement which was 100% concrete and had asbestos wrapped exposed pipes and conduits. Maybe if I’d used a more formal and ‘softer’ entrance my experience would have been different. I’ll never know.

Matt and I walked around the building as I took photos. I wasn’t about to go in an see who was living in 5E where my family moved in 1953.

Stopping at these two places was amazing even though my experiences at both were sub-optimum. I decided to give Matt his trip to Brooklyn… but would he mind if we stopped at my high school?

We drove down Jewel Avenue to the Van Wyck Expressway then westbound on the LIE to the BQE. Without a GPS the rest was dependent on instinct and luck.

“See that tall antenna?” I asked Matt, pointing at a tall radio tower atop a building. “That’s my high school.”

We took the turns I thought would get us there while Matt tried to keep the antenna in sight. When we turned onto Fulton Street we were home free.

The neighborhood has really changed for the better. The brownstones on Ft. Greene Place were decrepit and often abandoned when I went to Tech. Now the neighborhood is gentrified. Don’t think of looking at a brownstone for less than seven figures.

I remember getting off the GG (now G) train at Fulton Street and walking by three bars before turning toward the school. Even at that early morning hour I remember watching drunks stumble out as I walked down the street. The bars are gone. The new stores are nice.

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Brooklyn Tech is currently surrounded by scaffolding. There’s some sort of major renovation going on. This is, after all, a school built as a stimulus project during the Great Depression. It’s aged.

We walked three sides of the immense school building stopping at every outside door to see if it was open. At the very last door we saw three men at a car. The adjacent door to the school was slightly ajar.

“Do you work here?”

New Yorker’s aren’t usually quick and free with information, but they answered yes.

“I graduated forty years ago and haven’t been back since. Can we go in?”

The boss looked at one of his workers and told him to take us in. We couldn’t stay long. There was work to be done.

No matter how large a high school you went to mine was larger! Allow me to sing.

Tech alma mater molder of men.

Proudly we rise to salute thee again.

Loyal we stand now six thousand strong.

The rest of the song is inconsequential. Six thousand boys went to Tech. That’s the important part.

Most of the school was eight stories tall with five corridors per floor. A smaller part of the building went to eleven stories. Yes, we had elevators, but you could only use them between certain designated floors.

“What’s that up there?” Matt asked looking at a glass covered area on the highest floor.

“That’s the foundry.”

Yeah, we had a foundry. In high school I poured molten pig iron! I know what a cope and drag are and how to make a wooden pattern for pouring.

Tech was where you learned to be an engineer. Our course of study was perfectly designed to fill the needs of 1940’s America. Alas, it was a little long in the tooth upon my arrival in 1964.

We stopped for a few photos in the 3,000+ seat auditorium and a look at some of the intricate work produced by government employed WPA artisans. Remember, Tech was built both as a school and as a make-work project to employ people during a horrific economic crisis.

Again, this was a great stop. I was totally shocked we’d been let in. Thank you unknown custodial staff. I appreciate your kindness.

When Matt originally mentioned Brooklyn it was because of a weekly flea market he’d read about. It was in the neighborhood and we headed right there.

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As is the case with much of New York City this flea market was a veritable United Nations. Every possible shade of skin as well as an immense variety of accents were represented. There was enough diversity to make everyone a minority.

It’s tough to describe what was being sold because so much of it was totally off-the-wall. Yes, there were books about Hitler. Yes, there was a Jesus Christ Action Figure.

“It has wheels,” said the guy trying to sell it.

Like Tech this was a bad neighborhood at one time. Not anymore. I said to myself, “I could live here,” though I’m not really sure that’s true. Certainly on this lazy summer’s afternoon it was quite lovely and inviting.

The flea market closed at five and we were back in the car heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Last August I’d walked the bridge with my friend Steve. I thought Matt would enjoy it too. I had only the vaguest of guesses where the bridge was as we set out.

“There it is,” Matt blurted, but he was looking at the Manhattan Bridge.

Typical out-of-towner mistake. A bridge is a bridge–right? But knowing where the Manhattan Bridge was the same as knowing where the Brooklyn Bridge was because they’re so close to each other.

We found on-the-street parking a few blocks from the entrance to the bridge’s walkway. A whole day in New York City without paying for parking! My father is proud!

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The Brooklyn Bridge provides an incredible vista from which to view the city. Crossing the East River the bridge connects Downtown Brooklyn with Downtown Manhattan. It’s about a one mile walk.

I bought a bottle of water from a vendor and we headed over.

I cannot recommend this trek enough. Looking south you see Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. In the distance tall cranes mark the port facilities in New Jersey.

To the north is the nearby Manhattan Bridge and a glimpse into Midtown. The Empire State Building dominates most northward views.

The East River is a working river. There’s plenty of commercial traffic though not the international fleet found on the Hudson.

There were lots of interesting looking people on the bridge, but none more interesting than the couple (by her accent, French) who found a girder with hand rails which led over the auto roadway to the edge of the bridge. It looked scary. They had just begun to head back when I spotted them.

After the bridge roundtrip we were hungry and found the Water Street Restaurant and Lounge. Surprisingly it wasn’t busy. I had a Cajun Blackened Sirloin Burger with BBQ Sauce, Andouille Sausage, Crisp Onion Ring, Cheddar Cheese. Matt had the Norwegian Lox Sandwich with Avocado, Pickled Cucumbers, Lime Mayo on Black Rye.

Good choice! Dinner was tasty.

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Our last stop was the area under the two bridges. This being the weekend there were weddings taking place with the Manhattan skyline as backdrop. When you get married down by the banks of the East River you’re inviting anyone around to stop and watch. It’s really quite sweet, romantic and frugal!

We stayed near the river until the sun went down, then headed home.

We’d set out with no firm plan and yet (even Matt will admit) had a really fun day. It was nice to go back home. It was nice to see how Brooklyn’s changed. It was good for Matt to discover Brooklyn.

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A Few More Photos

There are a few photos from the New York trip I wanted to show, but they just don’t lend themselves to the Internet because of their shape and size. These two are attempts at panoramas.

Financial District NYC panoramaThere are a few photos from the New York trip I wanted to show, but they just don’t lend themselves to the Internet because of their shape and size. These two are attempts at panoramas.

The one on the left was taken in Lower Manhattan, in the Financial District. It’s unusual for me in that it’s a vertical pano. It was taken with a 10-20mm Sigma lens, set at 11mm.

The curvature should be expected, because this is a very wide angle lens. Even with that, there’s no way I could have caught this scene with one shot alone.

Below is a more conventional panorama, from nine individual shots taken on the Empire State Building. The center of the photo faces north. These shots were taken with a slightly more normal 30mm lens.

This second pano uses nine individual shots. Using your mouse, you can look around, while zooming in or out. I’ve never packaged a photo like this before. Thanks CleVR

Very Cold January New York City Adventure

We left Connecticut late Thursday morning, driving the 90 or so miles with minimal interruption. Our destination was the Affinia Manhattan Hotel on 7th Avenue, across from Madison Square Garden and Penn Station.


Our story starts with Santa. The old guy knows if you’ve been naughty or nice, sure. He also knows when a deal’s a deal! That’s how Santa found, and placed in our collective stocking, this week’s trip to New York City.

He found a highly rated hotel at half price and show tickets to Legally Blonde The Musical, also half price.

No wonder he’s jolly.

What Santa didn’t care about, being a fulltime resident of the North Pole, was New York City is on sale this time of year because the temperature is also likely to be half off.

We left Connecticut late Thursday morning, driving the 90 or so miles with minimal interruption. Our destination was the Affinia Manhattan Hotel on 7th Avenue, across from Madison Square Garden and Penn Station.

I pulled up to the curb behind another car, barely clearing the intersection. There was no sign of help! We waited.

A few minutes later, Helaine got out, entered the hotel and found the doorman. Within a minute or two, we had traded our SUV for a perforated piece of paper and walked inside.

The Affinia Manhattan is older, though in very good shape. It seems from all outward appearances to be a hotel that caters to tourists, as opposed to businessmen.

As we checked in, we met our first Affinia employee. We would come to find, they are all “Vegas friendly.”

That’s a compliment. Las Vegas is built on a hospitality economy. Everyone who works there knows it, and buys into it. Friendly staff brings return guests (who tip well).

Like the hotel, our room had been in its current state of decoration for a while. It was the largest single hotel room I’ve ever had, with two full size beds, a kitchenette and postage stamp sized bathroom.

Our main view from the 11th floor was 7th Avenue – a blessing and a curse. 7th Avenue is cooking ’round the clock and noisy!

We (meaning Helaine) unpacked the clothes. I set up our ‘comms station’. Passing on the hotel’s $9.95/day Internet, I hooked up via my cellphone. The G3 connection was about T1 speed, meaning 1/6th what I get here at home, though probably faster than what the hotel provides.

Stef had come prepared with a list of places (meaning stores) she wanted to visit. We headed to the subway and Greenwich Village. It was a 10 minutes ride on the “A” train.

At Belvedere Castle in Central Park, the official Weather Service observation site, the high was in the low 30s with a light wind. In the canyons of the city, with Bernoulli’s principle ramping up the wind like water through a garden hose’s nozzle, it felt closer to zero.

We were looking for Marc Jacobs on Bleeker Street. In this lower part of Manhattan, where streets no longer run parallel and perpendicular, it was tough to find. Luckily, along the way I spied the Magnolia Bakery.

This was a place I knew nothing about until Saturday Night Live featured it in “Lazy Sunday” a digital short. Even then, it took Stef’s sense of ‘what’s hot’ to move it onto my radar.

I saw the sign and could only think one thing – cupcakes!

Good God, they’re amazing. I can’t imagine there’s anything healthy about them but you’ll die happy.

As Helaine and Stef looked in stores, I stayed outside, freezing and photographing.

The Village is a very nice, very citified residential neighborhood. People move here to live an affluent lifestyle without looking ostentatious. Sorry, your cover has been blown.

We moved farther south to Century 21, a major discount clothing store across the street from Ground Zero. If you’re wondering whether Lower Manhattan has changed since 9/11, the answer is yes, there’s a huge construction site where WTC towers once stood. Other than that, people move about their business as they always have.

This part of the city is busy because it’s particularly convenient (something lost on me as a kid growing up in Queens). You’re only a few minutes from Midtown, Brooklyn (via the subway) and New Jersey (via the PATH trains) and 25 minutes from Staten Island via the ferry.

Back at the hotel we all changed to more sensible shoes and headed uptown on foot toward the Theater District and Times Square.

Helaine, our organizational beacon, made reservations for dinner at Joe Allen, a well known theater hangout on Restaurant Row (aka 46th Street between 8th> and 9th Avenues). I’d actually been once before, doing an interview there while shooting on location as host of PM Magazine/Buffalo.

Stef and I shared a guacamole dip appetizer. It was smooth in texture with a spicy tang. For the main course, she ordered a warm chicken salad while Helaine and I had meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I was comforted.

When we arrived, the restaurant was empty. When we left, it was full. This is a place that does huge business, mostly timed to make an 8:00 PM curtain. We had other ideas before the show began.

Before heading to the theater, we headed into Times Square and the oversized Toys ‘R Us. It’s tough to explain how large this store is, except to point out it has a full sized, full motion, Jurassic Park dinosaur and a Ferris Wheel!

Some things in life don’t get questioned. Stef wanted to ride and she and Helaine had already decided the ride would be with me (the less height fearful of the parents).

As Ferris Wheels go, with wasn’t particularly high nor particularly scary. After all, it wasn’t put up in a parking lot by safety ambivalent Carny’s! It was, however, indoors. That was the attraction.

Ride finished, we found the door, turned right and walked another block or so to the Palace Theater, where we had tickets to see “Legally Blonde The Musical.”

As with most Broadway houses, it’s been here for a while. The Palace opened in 1913, and much of that old school feel is still in it, though the theater has obviously been refurbished.

It is an immense house with orchestra, mezzanine and balcony&#185.

Ours seats were upstairs in the first row of the mezzanine – an astounding view of both the stage and the orchestra pit. On this Thursday night in mid-January, only the first few rows of the mezzanine were full. I assume the balcony was mostly abandoned as well.

About 20 minutes into the show I said to myself, “This is going much too fast.”

There was too much story with too few details in too little time. It was the theatrical equivalent of fast food. And then, with the story established, Legally Blonde hit its stride.

This is not Shakespeare. It’s a very light, tightly choreographed musical, based on the Reese Witherspoon movie. It’s light and fluffy and… well, it’s blonde! It was a lot of fun.

Years ago, Broadway suffered because the players voices faded over the long distance to the upper deck seats. Not so anymore. Actors wear mics (which you sometimes see protruding from their foreheads).

I’m mention microphones because for this performance, I think there was too much amplification. Less would have been more. Voices could have carried without being overpowering.

Laura Bell Bundy, who we saw in Hairspray, is physically perfect for the lead role, sorority girl Elle Woods. She sings and dances well, but Helaine felt her voice ran out before the show ended, sometime in the second act. Toward the end, it became grating.

The real standouts in the cast were Orfeh, the déclassé hairdresser who explains life to Elle and Christian Borle, the ‘pulled up by his own bootstraps’ law student/love interest.

Orfeh’s voice is strong, brassy and vibrant. Her presence is strong on stage. And, as they read this, my family will find out, she’s working with her husband!

Orfeh is Paulette, the unlucky-in-love Bostonian hairdresser who becomes best friends to Elle Woods, and Karl is Kyle, the UPS man of her dreams. Needless to say, Orfeh is thrilled to get to bend-and-snap for her husband eight times a week on Broadway.

Christian Borle reminds me of Eric Bogosian. That is if Eric Bogosian could sing… and maybe he can – who knows? In one of those weird stage intangibles, he’s really likable, though I can’t give you bullet points why. That’s good, because this part demands likability. When he was on the stage, it was tough to look away.

Oh – there are two other cast members I wanted to mention – Chico and Chloe as Bruiser and Rufus respectively. Both pound dogs, they are incredibly well trained (though you do see food move from actor’s hand to dog’s mouth after each bit of acting) and integral parts of the show.

Stef asked me to go backstage and bring them home. A father hates to disappoint his child, but the show must go on. I resisted.

After a slow start, Legally Blonde finished strong for me. We left in a good mood and hoofed it back downtown to the hotel.

Manhattan was reasonably quiet until we got to the Garden, where the Rangers game was letting out. The crowd was in a good mood. The Rangers had won.

Checkout time at the Affinia is very late – noon. We were out earlier, leaving our bags with the bellman. Breakfast/lunch was at The Bread Factory Cafe on 7th Avenue.

As is so often the case, Helaine and Stef had walked by the day before, stared in the window and decided this particular would be worth our while. I don’t quite know how they do it. Good decision.

I stood at the pasta station as my linguine with rock shrimp and garlic pesto sauce was prepared. It was tasty, and enough carbs to get me going.

Stef and Helaine decided a neighborhood store (Macy*s in Herald Square) was the place to go. I begged off. Stores just don’t do it for me like they do for them.

I cut across 34th Street to 5th and into the Empire State Building. It was me, Clicky, three lenses and three batteries (each of which would fizzle prematurely).

As a native New Yorker, I can’t remember ever going to the Empire State as a kid. It’s a tourist thing, like the Statue of Liberty and the U.N. – something the locals don’t do.

My first trip up was on a Saturday night in the summer of 1967. A fellow student from Brooklyn Tech had gotten his FCC First Class Radiotelephone license and latched on as summer relief transmitter engineer for WABC-TV. It seems like a hell of a responsibility for a 17 year old, but he was working odd hours and making big money in a unionized position.

The observation deck is on the 86th floor. He worked somewhere in the 90s… with windows that opened and a ledge some of the more senior engineers claimed they walked out on. I remember a fresh breeze blowing in toward the rack of transmitters and the glow of the city below.

I wish I remembered his name. I’m not sure if I really liked him as much as I liked the idea of going to this very special techie place.

I went back to Empire (as the transmitter guys called it) a few years ago with Stef. This was in my pre-Clicky days. Did it count without Clicky?

Back then, we waited in line for a few hours before taking the two elevators up&#178. Today, there was no crowd and I breezed right through an abandoned rope line and up to the top.

Holy crap it was cold!

The Sun was shining and the sky blue as I stepped onto the deck. Groups of people clustered around the diamond shaped fencing, peering out, trying to figure where they were looking. The city below was familiar. I looked east, trying to find our old apartment complex in far off Queens.

This time of year, the Sun is never very high in the sky. Looking south was very different than looking north. To the north all the detail was distinct. Looking south was looking at buildings in silhouette.

I watched as people took snapshots with the city as the background. It’s tough to make that kind of shot work when all you’re doing is pointing and shooting. Cameras are designed to compensate and correct exactly what you want to show uncorrected!

One of the most fascinating parts of the observatory are the pigeons. “How did they get up here,” I heard someone ask?

Hello – they’re birds. They fly. There are numerous ledges. They don’t have to do it all at once.

I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to say it, but resisted.

These city pigeons, used to people and cognizant of the protective fence, stayed mere inches away. They were scoping us out as we returned the favor.

I came prepared, bringing all my gear. I didn’t bring enough battery power. I knew this might be a problem. New batteries were already on order (and arrived at home today) for these fading ones.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I still got plenty of shots. I just had to stop before I wanted to.

Oh – one more thing. By virtue of its incredible height, the Empire State Building is an awful place for cell service! I tried making a few calls. Mostly they failed before they could be completed. When I did get a connection, it didn’t last long.

When you’re on top of the Empire State, it’s very easy to appreciate the wisdom of having this once building tower over all the others. A city of ‘equi-heighted’ skyscrapers would look wrong and the effect of this observatory would be diminished.

I met the girls for our last stop before leaving. It was a snack at Pinkberry on 32nd> Street, a street of mainly Korean businesses and Asian faces.

This was a Stef call. Pinkberry is trendy. Stef likes trendy. The American Express ads touting Pinkberry’s “swirly goodness” only add to that aura.

It’s not ice cream. It’s not yogurt. And, I’m told, it’s not terribly caloric.

Pinkberry was the coldest dessert I’ve ever had… and on a day that was already cold! There’s no doubt, it was tasty and really pretty.

I’m hoping Pinkberry doesn’t come after me, as the store has a lovely ‘no photography’ decal on the glass.

So, here we are, home again. This adventure is over. It’s amazing what we were able to accomplish in about 24 hours.

This explains why I came home and crashed!

&#185 – Writing in the NY Times before the Palace opening of Beauty and the Beast, Alex Witchel wrote, “Even if the cost is $11.9 million, that’s still a lot of money by Broadway standards, if not Disney’s. Can jealous fellow producers at least hope it will take years to recoup the investment, especially given the Palace’s hard-to-sell second balcony?”

&#178 – The first elevator goes from the ground floor to the 80th. You change there for 86.

Roost With A View!

Today, while Helaine and Stef spent quality time at Macy*s, I went to the top! Here’s my favorite sight from the Empire State Building along with a video of the pigeons and in general.

I really am going to write about the New York trip… maybe after my nap. Meanwhile, we are now home.

Today, while Helaine and Stef spent quality time at Macy*s, I went to the top! Here’s my favorite sight from the Empire State Building along with a video of the pigeons and sights from the top in general.


My Creative Family

We are a very small family. Even then, I am only in touch with a smaller subset of my relatives. Outside my immediate family, my closest relative is Cousin Michael. He and his family live in California – in the OC.

Michael is our most educated Fox. He has a closet full of bachelor and masters degrees, plus a law degree and PhD.

When he was in high school, he wanted to be a farmer&#185. That’s not the normal career path for someone born within walking distance of the Flushing El, who could see the Empire State Building from the front steps of his Queens apartment building.

If I remember correctly (and he’s not shy about correcting) he then studied library science, and of course, law. I’m sure I’m leaving something out.

He ended up working for the federal government as a staff attorney for the Labor Board in Washington. I remember visiting his office in a government building so depressingly institutional, linoleum and green wall paint would have classed the joint up.

At some point in Washington, he got hooked on theater. I don’t know how that happened, because Michael and I were out of touch for many of those years, but he got the bug. Michael gravitated to directing.

Though he taught and occasionally did ‘lawyer work,’ directing was obviously his vocational passion.

I have never seen Michael’s work, but now I’ve gotten to read about it. His latest production, Samuel Beckett’s “Endgame” is in the midst of a short run in Santa Ana, CA.

The Orange County Register’s reviewer was very positive.

This could be some bizarre, post-nuclear world where everyone struggles for survival, or it could simply be the extreme result of societies that value ideologies or materialism over human life. The time, place and context are never specified because, as director Michael David Fox’s staging proves, Beckett’s ideas transcend such specifics, creating disturbing images while raising philosophical questions deeply troubling once dwelled upon.

Beckett means for us to dwell on these issues, and Fox and company oblige with a compact staging that, like “Godot,” can be achingly funny one moment, stark and bleak the next.

I wish I could pop on down to Southern California to see it. The show runs through May 20, Friday and Saturday evenings and a Sunday matin

It’s Sunday – Again. It’s Always Sunday.

Today was another day with nothing planned. A few days ago, on the way to Boca Raton for dinner, we had driven by a sign on Jog Road – American Orchid Society.

I know nothing about orchids. Neither does Helaine nor my parents. Still it seemed like a nice place to go – picturesque and close. My camera was incredibly excited.

It’s always Sunday here in Florida. Isn’t it nice how that works?

Actually, last night wasn’t without its problems. I was sitting here in the kitchen, playing cards, when I heard a loud squeal. It was quick, but had that smoke detector feel to it.

About ten minutes later, the squeal again. This time I noticed there was a voice too. The smoke detector battery was running low and the automated voice wasn’t going to let me put it off – even though it was well after midnight and everyone else was asleep. The smoke detector wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Actually, in this situation, my folks have an advantage. As far as I could tell, this squeal and voice wasn’t waking them up. I would hope, and I think it’s likely, the constant squeal of a real emergency would roust them.

I walked into the bedroom to wake my mother. Where did she keep the batteries?

Long story short, a little chair balancing and the job was complete.

There was more to do this morning. My mom told me some lights had burned out. Would I replace them?

She wasn’t kidding. The bathroom fixture had three of four lights out! It was a similar situation in the den. These were all halogen bulbs. I did what a son’s supposed to do.

Today was another day with nothing planned. A few days ago, on the way to Boca Raton for dinner, we had driven by a sign on Jog Road in Delray Beach – American Orchid Society.

I know nothing about orchids. Neither does Helaine nor my parents. Still it seemed like a nice place to go – picturesque and close. My camera was incredibly excited.

The Orchid Society is set well back off the main road, adjacent to the Morikami Museum with Japanese art and a Japanese garden. The parking lot had plenty of empty spaces as we drove in.

It was well worth the trip. These flowers are beautiful and maintained in a beautiful place.

Our first stop was a greenhouse. There were dozens of varieties. It wasn’t overpowering. There was plenty of room between flowers. It was very pretty and very photogenic.

We left the greenhouse and walked out into the gardens. I suppose the blooming of flowers is more left to Mother Nature here. The flowers were just as pretty, but not everything seemed in bloom.

We walked the gardens for a while, but it was hot. We couldn’t stay too long.

It’s funny. If you go to New York City, you’ll see lots of people who’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building. It’s the same everywhere. People tend not to see their own local sights – like this beautiful museum. It was right under my parents’ noses, but they’d never been.

My Cousin Carol is on her way over. We’re going out for Chinese food at a restaurant originally recommended to a friend by a food critic. They’re both back in Connecticut, but it’s here.

After dinner I’ll let you know if I agree with the pros.

Click the box above to see the slide show

Blogger’s note – Thanks to DF for the clarification. I have ‘moved’ the Orchid folks to Delray Beach, where they are actually located.

Uncle Murray is Moving

New York is different that the rest of the United States. I can’t imagine there is a part of country where a higher percentage of the population lives in apartments. And, because of New York City’s rent control and stabilization laws, many people stay in those apartments forever.

My parents lived at 6543 Parsons Boulevard, Apartment 5E, from the early 50s to the late 80s. Our next door neighbors are still in the building, having moved in in 1953.

I’m not sure how long Uncle Murray has lived in his apartment, but it has to go back to the early 50s as well.

Before cable they had the worst TV reception I had ever seen. I remember trying to watch baseball games with my dad, Uncle Murray, Cousin Michael and some other family members. Every time a plane approached La Guardia Airport, the signal would go nuts. I seem to remember the TV sporting rabbit ears with tin foil for good measure – as if you could fool the signal into being watchable.

This from an apartment with a line-of-sight view to the Empire State Building where the TV transmitting antennas used to be… and are again, since 9/11.

The apartment is on the ground floor, facing out onto a busy street. It is in Queens, a short walk from the Flushing el, so not far from Manhattan by public transportation.

In that apartment you are never far from the noise of the neighborhood. If a car alarm goes off – if the bus goes by – if a horn is honked (and all of those seem to happen continuously) – you will witness it from inside the apartment, even with the windows closed.

But it is quiet in comparison to my grandparents’ 23rd floor apartment in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. From their windows they could see two elevated trains lines and the biggest yard in the New York City Subway system. The building was right at a curve which caused the heavy metal wheels on the train to squeal a little around the clock. It squealed as each set of wheels in the 8 or 10 car trains passed by.

I have been told Uncle Murray is leaving his apartment, moving closer to my Cousin Judy and her family in Maryland. It will be good for Murray to be closer to people who love him.

It will be the end of an era, as the last of the Fox family leaves New York City.

Uncle Murray will also end another, more universal, era. He is the last person I know whose telephone number is still remembered as a word and 5 digits. Uncle Murray is the last of the TWining-8’s for me.

Until he closed his store, it was the only other number I remembered non-digitally. That was STillwell-6 (I think).

When I was growing up, our home number was JAmacia-6-4308 and then AXtel-1-9790. At some point, the phone companies of America decided that wouldn’t do. I remember hearing some sort of propaganda about how all digit dialing would be easier to remember. I don’t think they were running out of numbers because you can make an exchange combination out of every number combo… though you’d need to use XYlophone for ’99.’

Later, AXtel-1-9790 became 291-9790 and then got changed to 591-0434 when we get our first area code – 212.

I never quite understood why there were exchanges like AXtel. What is an AXtel? Even Google asks, “Did you mean: axtell ?” ‘291’ could have been AWning-1 or AWful-1 or CYrus-1.

New York Telephone made some bad choices other than AXtel. On Staten Island there was an exchange, Saint George. Was that SA or ST?

Today, I know my number should be CEntral… though it’s a ’23.’

Back to Uncle Murray.

I can’t imagine how he’ll pick up and pack fifty years worth of memories? What will be found that had been lost? What will be found that should have been lost? Does he still have the Playboy Magazines I found under his bed forty some odd years ago?

I’ll have to call Uncle Murray this weekend. I want one last chance to dial that number.

New York City Trip Report – Day 1

Click here, or on any photo to see my album of photos from this trip.

It’s inside my wedding ring – 11/26/83. Helaine and I were married, just outside Philadelphia. In the beginning, I used the ring for reference to remember the exact date. Now, I know. It has been 20 years!

The past few months have been sort of rough, especially with Ivy passing away. Helaine thought it would be better if we were away on Thanksgiving and our anniversary. I agreed.

I had asked for November 26th off way back in December of last year. It was the last day of the very important November ratings book. To their credit, my bosses allowed me to take the day off. Twenty years is a milestone.

Helaine thought it would be fun to go to New York City, get a hotel, see some shows, do a little shopping, maybe catch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade and come home.

We had never used Priceline, but some folks at work had had success with it. I looked for a 4-star hotel in the Times Square area and bid. My first bid was rejected, but there was a suggestion that ‘maybe’ I’d get it if I upped the amount. I did, but in retrospect, I don’t think my Priceline deal was that hot.

I called the hotel to make sure the room would have two king size beds (we were taking Stefanie). No problem, but it would be a rollaway bed at $50 per night! And, of course, at this time my Priceline bid was locked in and non-refundable.

Helaine set out to get show tickets. Stefanie and I have gone into Manhattan on numerous occasions, standing in line at TKTS in Duffy Square and buying half price theater tickets. This would be different.

Helaine found pretty good seats for Six Dance Lessons in Six Weeks, starring Polly Bergen and Mark Hamil and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Ashley Judd, Jason Patric and Ned Beatty.

Six Weeks was in previews but had been well received pre-Broadway. Cat had gotten very good reviews, especially for Ned Beatty. We ended up seeing neither play!

Six Weeks was lambasted by every reviewer I could find. This was the kind of awful play that critics take particular pride in crushing. It wasn’t long before we got a call from Telecharge saying the Thanksgiving performance had been canceled. Actually, the show closed.

Helaine set back to Telecharge and found Wonderful Town, a revival of a 1950’s show about 1930’s New York. I had been hearing radio commercials for this show and it hadn’t appealed to me. Still, there wasn’t much choice on Thanksgiving night, and I love the theater.

We set out for Manhattan on the morning of November 26. I had been up the night before writing a story for work and taking two tests for my courses at Mississippi State. Steffie got behind the wheel of the Explorer. Helaine got into the back and prayed for a safe journey.

Stefanie got a little highway time behind the wheel and taking us to Norwalk. We swapped seats and I took us the rest of the way into the city.

Traffic was unusually light, especially considering it was the day before Thanksgiving. I got in the wrong lane at a construction site in the Bronx and ended up having to double back though some side streets. Still, we made it to the Cross Bronx Expressway and West Side Highway without incident and breezed crosstown on 44th Street directly to the hotel.

The Millennium Broadway is an OK hotel in a great location. It is less than a block east of Times Square.

We knew parking wasn’t included and now we found out it was $45 per day! We were reminded again that a rollaway bed was $50. We headed upstairs to our room, 1716.

In most hotels a 17th floor room would provide you with a commanding view. Not here. The 17th floor is only barely above the roof lines of the smaller buildings in the area and provides no view of the street or anything farther than a few blocks away.

Our room was as small as any hotel room I’ve ever been in. The king size bed took up most of the space. There was a small desk, color TV, microscopic closet with a moderate sized safe, and a few smaller chairs. One entire wall was windows.

The bathroom was normal sized with incredible water pressure. I have never seen a bathroom sink that could puncture your hand with its water pressure before this one. Towels were moderate in size. The tub/shower had glass doors and was a decent size.

Helaine discovered the drain in the tub was stuck closed. I’m not sure how the housekeeper didn’t catch this. I tried to unstick it and it snapped off in my hand. I would later tell the front desk of this problem and it was repaired properly.

This being New York, we headed down to Canal Street. I’ve written about Canal Street before, so let it suffice to say, this is the place to go to get knock offs of all types.

There are a few very interesting points about Canal Street. First, how can the trademark/copyright holders not enforce their rights? Sales of Rolex, Movado, Luis Vuitton and a zillion other brands go on right in the open.

There is some ineffectual enforcement I believe, because from time-to-time, without warning, Nextel direct connect chirps will sound and black cloths will be quickly drawn over the display tables. In the small booths, metal rolldown doors will close. Essentially any visible evidence of knock off commerce will disappear.

The second interesting point has to do with the ethnic makeup of the business owners. Most shops seem to be run by ethnic Chinese. Canal Street skirts New York’s Chinatown. There are book sellers on tables set up curbside. These folks are Southwest Asian – either Indian, Pakistani, Sri Lankan or Bangladeshis. I’m not good enough to make finer distinctions. From time-to-time lone black men will move through the crowd pulling out watches in small display boxes. These men are all African, based on their accents.

If sales tax is collected on Canal Street or if any paperwork is kept, I’ve yet to see it!

Steffie bought a few watches and a head band. Helaine and I watched.

For our 20th anniversary dinner, Helaine made reservations at Rocco’s in the Flatiron District. Rocco’s is the scene of the reality show, “Restaurant.” We caught a cab after a few minutes of jockeying for the proper location and quickly moved uptown.

Our reservations were for 5:30, but we were early, so Steffie and Helaine popped into a local furniture store while I took some photos. From the Flatiron District the Empire State Building dominates the northern skyline.

In order to eat at Rocco’s you have to sign a bunch of waivers acknowledging that a TV show is being taped here and that you give up all rights to the production company. I signed, but am unsure how AFTRA (the performers union I belong to) would react to this.

It’s a moot point. I doubt I’ll be on the show.

Rocco’s is a nice Italian restaurant, undistinguished in most ways except for the camera crews running around, the cameras on the ceiling and the casting call fresh contingent of waiters and waitresses.

Helaine and Steffie had spaghetti and meatballs (the house specialty) while I had linguine with white clam sauce. Dinner was good, not great.

As we ended dinner, Helaine spotted Rocco’s mom. She is actually responsible for the spaghetti and meatballs. With the TV show she had become a minor celebrity. Pictures were taken, of course.

We headed uptown by cab toward the Music Box Theater and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. We got to the theater and heard the news: Ashley Judd was sick. She would not be performing tonight. Since she was the big star, refunds would be offered. Helaine and Steffie decided to pass on the understudy, and I went along. We weren’t alone. I believe most ticket holders walked.

There might be a back story here. Just the day before, in the New York Times, Ned Beatty had been less than kind toward Judd and Jason Patric. To paraphrase, they were working hard but didn’t have the chops that many unemployed Broadway actors had. It was not a glowing endorsement.

Since the show would be dark on Thanksgiving, taking Wednesday off would give Ashley two in a row and some time to get over what Beatty said. Was she sick? Was she pissed? I just don’t know. Ashley and I never did get together.

This left us without anything to do, but there was a possibility. We had heard the Thanksgiving Eve balloon inflation on the Upper West Side was very visual, so it was into a cab again.

Columbus Circle was already closed in anticipation of the parade, so we went far west and scooted up to the 70’s before cutting back to Central Park West. We followed a crowd to what we thought was the one block line to the balloons. Nope. Once we got to where the entrance should be, we found out there was another 2, maybe 3, block wait.

Too much. We headed back to the hotel.

In retrospect that was a great idea because Thanksgiving Day was going to be quite full and begin very early!

Click here, or on any photo to see my album of photos from this trip.