Date: Sat, 13 Dec 1997 21:54:58 -0700
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
To: type2@bigkitty.azaccess.com
Subject: Back From the Living Dead/The NYC EXPERIENCE

Well, life is getting better.  I am able to breathe and not cough as much
while doing it.  I am able to talk with some resonance, although not much.
My fever has subsided, and the sniffles are slowly drifting away from my
sinuses.  Breathing really is a miraculous act.

For the past few days I have been at the gracious home of Ron and Evon
Salmon, the owner of the Bus Depot.  I departed John Britenbachs home in
Dumont, New Jersey last Tuesday afternoon.  It was only a short drive down
to where Ron lives.

Wednesday, two weeks ago I left Terry Russells home in West Port
Connecticut and headed down to John B's.  I was feeling bad then, but
within 6 hours of checking into Johns place I was feeling the sickening
crud sneak into my system.  I felt the horror, as my sinuses started to
burn with that little tinge of fire that is always my bodies first signal
of illness.  I knew something bad was coming, but the severity was yet to
edify.

On Thursday John had planned to take off work so he and his girlfriend/mate
Patty could take me into the "Big Apple".  Yep, I was finally going to get
to visit the city of cities.  The metropolis of art, culture, crime, and
mayors that become movie stars.

You know, all your life you hear about this city, this metropolis that sits
in the center of the "megalopolis".  That region that hangs from Boston to
Washington, DC on the east coast of the states.  They say that this region
is the most populated area of the USA.  I now know and recognize that this
is very much the cold hard truth.  How so many can live so close is
something of a wonderment to this country boy.

John and I got up at around 8:00 AM on Thursday morning and headed off to
meet up with Patty at his office.  John works for his uncle who owns Thermo
Mizer, an environmental quality engineering firm.  I am not exactly sure
what they do, but it is pretty advanced engineering, that I do know.

We arrived at the office at about 9:30, and Patty arrived at around 10:15.
In the meantime John let me send some mail and hang out.  We all went to
the city around 11:00 AM.

The ferry ride over from Hoboken to Manhattan was not bad at all.  Most of
the folks you see are corporate mice going to their destined traps of
rodentness for the day.  They live in the quiet of Jersey, and work in the
maze of Manhattan.  The weird thing is that Jersey is not all that quiet
either.

All of the folks seem to dress the same, just like they did when I worked
in downtown Atlanta.  The men all dress in their dark blue or black suits,
with the ever present knee length wool coat that gives them that
mortuarious air.  The women were dressed in their conservative non
exibitive mode and some even wore ties.  They also seemed to sport their
long wool coat as well.

Neither of the corporate genders smiled, or spoke, or even acknowledged
that anyone else was there.  Most of them just hung their head and focused
on the ground, or in this case, concrete that stretched out before them.

They of course communicated with their pack of colleagues of which few
seemed to have as an entourage.  Some folks are just destined to walk to
work alone each day harboring the urge to scream, knowing they are once
again approaching something they now hate and at one time enjoyed.  They
seem to all be wondering, 'Why don't I like my job?"

We arrived at the city in about ten minutes after boarding the ferry.  We
then boarded more people moving vehicles in order to delve deeper into the
maze.  Large city busses awaited us to board, and bye and bye they revved
there massive diesel engines and delivered us deeper into the heart of
abyss.

While on the bus I was able to break a rule or too and strike up a
conversation with a lady sitting next to me.  Her two children and husband
were sitting in the seat directly behind me and to my surprise, he also
chimed in with "just good conversation".  I sighed a sigh of relief, I had
readily found humanness in this mass of quiet, depressed, urban sea of
humanity.

We sat and told a little about ourselves.  Of course the first thing they
wanted to know was what a southerner was doing in this neck of the country.
I explained about my trip this year and there again it took us to a new
level of relationship.

It still amazes me how so many people can be so interested in some 40 year
old guy that jumps off, chunks it all, and heads out into the wild blue
yonder to live a dream.  Personally I still see it as a bit crazy, but I am
glad that my psychosis can be of service to others and bring them a smile,
and maybe a dream.

All in all, I guess I really am very proud of myself for having the guts to
do it.  One things for sure, I will have something to start conversation
with from here on out.  Especially with those that walk to work alone each
day.  Every chance I get anyway.

Finally after sitting in traffic longer than we could tolerate, I asked
John and Patty if they wanted to get off and walk.  They said yeah, so I
pulled the cord and signaled the driver.  The folks I was talking too all
said good luck and we shared good-byes, and John, Patty and myself were on
the street.  It all happened about that fast.

The first place we went was to Radio City Music Hall.  The day was pretty
dreary with a heavy cloud cover and all the lights kind of glowed like the
pictures you see.  It wasn't raining, but it was a bit hazy, although some
of that may have been smog.

We stood and took a couple of pictures and stood a little more.  Then we
walked around looked at all the buildings with all the Christmas lights.
They had already lit up the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.  It is
the one in the movie "Home Alone".  Not the same tree, but...well you get
my drift.

One thing I noticed about the tree is that there were big cables and bars
running up and down the length of it, and many of them had cross bars on
them.  the closer I looked I realized that they had hacked this tree down
to nothing but a pole, hauled it in on a truck, and then hung the limbs
back in place.  basically it was not a tree at all, but a very neatly and
strategically stacked pile of wood with lights on it.

Now all of the bars and supports were painted green so that folks could
only see the beauty when they glanced at it.  To be honest I thought it was
a waste of a perfectly good tree.  Why couldn't they just get farmed tree
from somewhere and leave the forest trees like this one alone.  It was
actually kind of indicative of the lie that Christmas has become.

We decided that we would try and find the Time-Life Building where I have
an old acquaintance that works for Sports Illustrated.  Schuyler Bishop,
who is the brother of one of my old bosses, is on the Copy Desk at SI.  He
and I have only met once and since I hadn't seen him in a long time, I
decided I would try and look him up.

I guess he is one of the few people I know who has a bit of fame, other
than all of you of course.  His name is in the front cover list of folks
that have something to do with putting the magazine together each week.
What the hell, when I met him he was a good guy, hopefully age had not done
him bad personality wise.

Come to find out we were right beside the Time-Life Building and didn't
even realize it.  One of us, I believe it was John, saw the sign as we
walked across the street.  We strolled in like we owned the place and asked
the security guard where the SI desk was.  He pointed it out to us and we
walked in there like we owned the place.

The pretty lady clad in her conservative uniform asked if she could help
me, and I explained to her my need.  She smiled and graciously made the
call.  She hung up the phone and smiled and said, "I am sorry he is not in
today.  Would you like to leave a message for him?".  I told her know and
we all dejectedly left the building like we were the "former" owners of the
place.

We then commenced the sincere tour of NYC/Manhattan.  At least as sincere
as we could get with me starting to drag along like a man doing valium.

We dropped into Saint Pauls something Cathedral where you could participate
in numerous masses per day, and then give a minimum offering of a dollar to
light a candle in prayer for some loved one.  It was a holy place simply
because it was a church, but I don't know how much prayer I could get done
with so many folks coming and going.

I guess on that day I myself was one of the comers and goers though.
Should I be ashamed of myself?, Was this really a place of prayer in the
first place?, Was it just another tourist attraction.  These are questions
I asked myself in private as we gawked at the marvelous architecture of the
church building.

I reckon if your downtown in your blue suit and long wool coat doing the
rodent maze thing each day, it could be a quiet place of a sort.  May be
that every now and then, some Times-Square Executive gets to caught up in
the hustle and tangled up in blues so much he she needs to talk to the
Gods.  It may be that some of the homeless or almost homeless wonder by
here and figure out that God might be an answer to the crap their life has
become.

I came to the conclusion that even a crowded "tourist" church ain't bad if
you need a church.  If the problems get serious enough, the noise ain't
much of a hindrance when it comes to communing with the deity.  I said a
couple of hail Mary's and crossed myself in my Baptist fashion.

I have a lot to be thankful for and it was good place to say it.  I also
through in a little prayer about how I like to see the world be as well.
Little for the past, a little for now, and a little for the future.  Its
all about balance ya know.

After leaving the church we strolled down Park Avenue.  We lulled along
past people on top of people, all trying to avoid running into each other.
Tourist, laborers, business people, priest, young, old, and middle aged
humans all passed without making eye contact.  I guess it is true you could
have your hair on fire and not many would notice in New York City.

We walked past all the ritzy stores like Versage' (the guy killed by the
guy in Miami here a while back).  We saw the Coke fashion store, Tiffany's,
which Patty insisted we go into.

None of us could afford anything there, but that was probably the case with
quite a few of the visitors to the store.  It is famous you know.  There
were so many other stores I won't even begin to try and name them.  I don't
speak French that well.

Finally we walked all the way down to Central Park.  John asked if we
wanted to do buggy ride.  I said "man that is a lot of money", I was
willing to split it with him, but he said he would cover it.  Hell, why not
and so we all jumped in.

He and Patty snuggled under the blanket and I sat solo hoping we might pass
some NYC chick that couldn't resist a southern man that was a little sick.
It didn't happen so I just sat there and tried to remember what movie I had
seen what I was seeing in.  I know I have seen that little pond with the
ducks before.

The driver kept trying to tell us all what sites we were seeing, but the
damn car noise kept drowning him out.  There were seas of cars on each
boulevard we would pass.  From the route we traveled you could look
straight up the hill into downtown and see for maybe a half mile.

Each half mile was filled with a broad line of cars and trucks bordered by
the bobbing heads of people as they lumbered down the street going to their
appointed section of the maze.  Mindless walkers in a sea of outrageous
drivers who love to blow their own horns.

The clip clop of the horse was soon all we could hear.  We had made the
turn into Central Park and things got quiet rather quickly.  It was really
amazing how fast it got quiet.  It was amazing how fast we three grew more
solemn with that quiet.  Within three hundred feet after leaving the city
and entering the park, we were in peaceful surroundings, and our
personalities were reflecting it.  Patty and John snuggled tighter, and I
started looking at the park and appreciating it for what it is, and what it
had become.

Here in the middle of this maze was a haven.  It had large trees with
un-supported branches.  It had squirrels and birds and ducks and geese and
swans.  There were ponds for them to swim in and drink from and the grass
was green and life was good.  It also had the occasional jogger like any
urban park and a few ice skaters on the frozen park rink.  This was a cool
place the rink especially.  I wanted to cycle around and through it.  My
sickness yet to come would put the skids on that thought.

The driver kept hacking out tourist crap but we really had stopped paying
attention to what he was saying.  We had relaxed almost to a false sense of
security when suddenly we once again neared the noise of the maze.  The
driver ceased to talk and the horse quickened its pace.

Once again I felt my innards retard the scream the city can bring to the
soul.  The driver jumped down and said he would take our picture.  He did
and we all gave a half hearted smile out of disappointment the peace was
gone.  It was good while it lasted, we thanked the horse as we walked back
into the maze.  he was doing a downer drug I am sure.

The abyss traffic was thick with cars.  Yellow seems to be the most popular
color in this city.  Yes folks, the most preferred car in NYC, and I can
plainly see why, is a Checker, or these days, a Chevrolet the size of a
boat that charges you $2.00 upon entrance and $1.00 for each 1/5 of a mile
after that.

These yellow beast are reported to be driven by the most diverse of the
American population.  From what I understand, most of these pilots do not
speak English very well but if someone from the Sudan comes to town, they
are well covered.  Unless of course they get a driver that only speaks
Bangladese, which should make my point that its a crap shoot no matter
where you're from.  Taxi drivers in New York City drive like hell and don't
speak English............period.

I don't know, but I still hang on to my fantasy that all New York taxi
drivers are like the ones from the great sitcom "Taxi".  I mean I could get
into riding with the "Reverend Jim" type personality.  Strung out, but with
some infinite wisdom to share, and a surprisingly good vocabulary with
which to share it.  I didn't ruin my fantasy, I didn't ride in a NYC taxi.

We then headed back south via the NYC Subway, which wasn't bad, toward the
Empire State Building.  This was a sideshow all its own.  First we stood in
the foyer and took a couple pictures to prove we were there.  Then we
walked on into to where you go to the top.

Now I had seen this Building in King Kong, the old version, and the more
modern with Jessica Lange (ooh lala).  I had seen it on David Letterman
when he used to air at 10:00 in the morning.  He would sometime go to the
top just to see who was up there.  As of late I had seen it in "Sleepless
in Seattle" and saw it blown up in "Independence Day".  Now I was seeing it
up close, and personal.

It used to be the tallest in the world, when I was a kid it was.  Now it is
just another tourist attraction with masses standing in line.  They now
have apparently bid out the concessionaire spot and competition to take
people to the top is argued and splayed right before your eyes in the lobby
as you approach the elevators.

One company offers a fierce theme type thrill ride and an elevator to the
top for $12.00, whilst another offers just the top for $6.00.  We chose the
$6.00 older folks view.  I don't think my head could have taken the thrill
ride.  I was definitely feeling worse.  A sweat had began to show symptom,
and my voice was fading.  Weakness had moved in.

The line was long and first they wove you through the cattle gates.  While
we were standing there John and Started slow dancing to overcome the
boredom.  I just sort of stood there looking around the crowd wondering who
I might ask to dance.  No music, no matter.

Oh the silent melody a couple hears when love abounds and flows through you
like a song, a great thing it is, unless of course you're holding up the
line to the top of the Empire State Building.  The lady behind me started
getting a knot because the line was moving forward and they were still lost
in the muse of the love dance.  I provoked the separation and forward we
moved.  I simply told them to "dance forward, dance forward", I mean that
lady, in her anxiousness, might have pulled out an Uzi or something.  We
were smack dab in the middle of New York City.  : )

Finally after standing in line for about thirty minutes all together we
reached the top.  On the way there we suffered two more lines and two very
fast elevators.  In fact, I think I might would call them the fastest
elevators I have ever been on.  They were of the express mode.  They had
two speeds, fast and stop, no middle ground to be had.

We stepped out of the rocket-vator and there before was a gift shop.  just
beyond the gift shop was the food court and just beyond that was the view
of the city.  I must say it was way up there.  You could only see a mile or
two because of the clouds, but it was an awesome view of marvelous
proportions.

I walked around and took a few photos and walked around some more.  Patty
and John took some pictures of us, and I took some pictures of them, and so
on and so forth.  We then took another walk around and then went to find
the bathroom.  After relieving ourselves we walked around some more only
this time in the gift shop.

I was feeling pretty bad but was able to ascertain that this gift shop was
as cheesy as any you will see.  I really don't care much for those places,
although I do go to them when I need to drop a lot of money on cheap
souvenirs.  I have the memory, and today I wouldn't invest any of my money.

Finally we went back down and started walking back toward the ferry at my
request.  I was feeling really rough now and the elevator had closed my
ears up.  They stayed closed for the next 7 days.  Only now are they
opening back up.  The flu is a terrible thing, and high, fast elevators
don't make things any better.  Just a warning for those of you that might
be feeling a bit sickly.

I told them that I wouldn't mind catching Times-Square as we headed back
up.  they asked if I was sure, I said yeah.  We once again hit the subway
hole and waited for the train.  Inside the tunnel there was a guy playing
classical guitar and the pan flute all at the same time.

This guy was really good, I later wished I had given him some money.  He
moved you with his smooth renditions of traditional Christmas music.  I
hope he is doing it all season, and I hope folks enjoy the easiness he
brings to an otherwise boring subway tunnel.  I think cities should pay
these minstrels a salary to play music on the streets.  Some of them are a
pleasure to hear.

We made it to Times-Square as the skies were growing darker.  It was only
4:00 PM or so, but the clouds blocking the sun, and the early
disintegration of sunlight in Eastern-standard time, mixed with the shade
of the buildings made it look like dusk.  The lights were even more
pronounced.

We took some photographs, of which you will see one of these days real
soon.  John and Patty and I had a real good time down there.  people and
cars were everywhere and somehow that fact had become a bit more normal
than it was hours before.  The place was a hustle from beginning to end.

We stopped at a XXX Book shop and viewed the literature they had inside.
Nothing new, Girls and Boys, boys and girls, girls and girls, boys and
boys, girls and boys in bondage, girls in bondage, boys in bondage.  That
about sums it up.  I did buy a gift for a friend of mine in NC.  I am sure
he will get a kick out of this literature.  I may have to pre-read it for
him.  hahahaha

We got back to the ferry and crossed back over the Hudson.  That night John
had set up a night of guitar picking.  He being a pretty good picker
himself has some friends that were wanting to jam.  Tom, his good buddy
that just happens to be in a wheelchair was the host.  I got into a
conversation with Frank another buddy that was there and ended up shooting
the bull with him all evening.  I couldn't sing, could barely talk, and if
I were in the music I would have had to try.  It was a good evening for all
involved.

For the next five days I was sick as a dog and wondering whether death
would be the miracle that would deliver me from my agony.  NY quill,
aspirin, Cold-eze, and two cough syrups asses were kicked by this flu
strain that had invaded my body.  I felt bad and breathed even worse.  I
couldn't even talk, or listen.  John stayed at Patty's and called each day
to check on me.

He brought me food and medicine and took me out to eat and everything else.
I wish I could have been a better guest, but the sickness wouldn't allow
it.  I will see John and Patty again one day.  They are good people.

Gus made a mess of his house in more ways than one while we were out and
this guy didn't say much about it.  He understood the situation of the
Puppy and how hard it is to housebreak with no consistency on the road.
Gus, the non-discriminate shitter.  I was embarrassed to say the least.

On Tuesday I had to travel.  I was feeling a bit stir crazy and although I
wasn't completely well I had to make some progress.  The short jaunt to Ron
and Evons would not take long and they had also invited me to come in and
stay a few days.

On Sunday I plan on going to Tom Forhans in DC.  Ron and I are going to
caravan down.  It's good to be back among the living.

Thanks to all of the folks that wished me "get better".  That was really
nice.  : )

Thanks for tolerating the ramblings.

Charlie Ford


"79" Transporter, dressed for the road
The Mothership

 The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and
Search for the Beginning of Wind".

http://www.slurpee.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html

"Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"