While I trust that my coming knee replacement in six weeks will be relatively uneventful, we don’t know how it will impact my summer activity, including my ability to travel. I’m scheduled to teach a course in June, but that’s going to happen online, so I can do that from here at home. So Mrs. M put forward the idea that we get a trip in beforehand (beforeknee?), and as her spring break is this week, she suggested a long weekend in New York. I assented, and built a couple of work-on-your-own days into my syllabi to keep the kids occupied.
After some weeks of anticipation, departure day was Good Friday, since both of us had the day off. We threw our baggage into the Blue Meanie and made the trek up to Charlotte — the most economical starting point for non-stop flights. That economy also led us to book our flight on, um, an unnamed, low-cost airline whose livery has been described by my cousin the Delta pilot as “the colors of crime scene tape” and by me as “the Waffle House of the Skies.” It was precisely the sort of no-frills (or perhaps no human dignity) experience one might expect from the foregoing description. Many of our fellow passengers were the sort of folks who should have been plucking banjos and talking to geese, and the seats were about one step above being chained to an oar. (Note to the unnamed airline: Not even I am willing to accept the “chained to an oar” option.) But Mrs. M and I can tolerate a lot of things for a two-hour span — we both endure faculty meetings, after all.
[Side note: I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I no longer require the special seat belt extenders I’ve had to use on airplanes for years, which meant that I felt less like a circus attraction than I typically have in these situations. Score one for somewhat cleaner living. End side note.]
We arrived at LaGuardia without incident and caught our shuttle on time. We were sharing the ride with several other folks, and issues like leg and head room meant that Mrs. M sat with the rest of the passenger while I wound up riding shotgun. We were the first passengers to be dropped off, and after establishing base camp on the 42nd floor of our Lower Manhattan/Financial District hotel, scouted around for some lunch.
***
Our hotel was located just a few steps from the Cortlandt Street subway station, and across the street from the World Trade Center’s transit/shopping hub, the Oculus. The place has a Kubrickian science fiction vibe:
After gazing around a bit, we made our way to the nearby Eataly — a combination of Italian restaurants, groceries, and cooking supplies. Mrs. M found a salad, while I got a couple of pieces of Sicilian-style pizza. We followed that with some gelato, and then went back and checked out the various shops in the buildings.
Eventually we walked to the 9/11 Memorial. There wasn’t much of a crowd around the perimeter of the former North Tower’s disappearing pool, and we stood there for a time, thinking about the enormity that took place nearly a quarter-century ago. It occasioned a variety of thoughts and feelings for me; because I’m what they call a “surviving victim of homicide”, I found myself thinking of the families of the people who died in what was, after all, a mass murder. I saw some of the victims’ names on the polished black panels that rim the pool, and thought about how many panels there were surrounding the two pools. At first, there don’t seem to be enough names on any individual panel to include every victim, but then upon considering the sheer quantity of panels, it gives a sense of the vastness of what happened. At the same time, I found myself looking at the activity around me — shoppers, visitors, and even the hucksters peddling guidebooks to the site — and saw something of a victory, in that despite the efforts of barbarians, civilization endured. This does not diminish what happened there, any more than the fact that the home where my parents were killed now houses others diminishes that, But I do take comfort in the fact that contrary to the country song, the world did not stop turning. If we survive, we continue — not always willingly, but we do.
***
We went back to the hotel for a little bit, and then returned to the Oculus for dinner, finding a multi-ethnic food court on the lower level. In fact, that location’s combinations of food stands and a convenience store made it a fine place to start each day. But by the time we finished, the travel and our walks had taken a toll, and we returned to the hotel for the evening.
[Side note: The Oculus includes a veritable multiplex of transit connections, so that’s where we picked up our all-you-can-eat Metrocard passes, allowing us onto public transit as often as we liked, for $35 each. I haven’t done the math, but I’m pretty sure we came out at least even, if not ahead of the by-the-ride fares. Seriously, folks — when the guidebooks encourage visitors to use the subway, 1) they mean it, and 2) they’re right. Even I — someone who is both gimpy and who wrote a story about someone being pushed off a subway platform — found the subway pleasant, safe, and comfortable. But I did stand well away from the platform’s edge.]
***
Saturday morning, the sun’s reflection off One World Trade (formerly the Freedom Tower) woke us up, and after getting civilized, we had a full dance card. We grabbed breakfast — a cinnamon roll and a blueberry muffin from a nearby bakery — and walked down Broadway to the Battery. Along the way, I read the various plaques identifying the folks who were celebrated in ticker-tape parades along the Canyon of Heroes, and talked about them as we walked. To Mrs. M’s credit, she didn’t slug me. The sidewalks were busy, but we made our way down to the park and I found a bench with a view of the Statue of Liberty. Because Mrs. M and I have both been to the Statue over the years, we didn’t take the ride this time. Instead, I took a break and did some people watching while she ranged a bit farther along.
From there, we caught a train at the Bowling Green station and rode up to Times Square. We picked up a few souvenir trinkets — in this case, refrigerator magnets to accompany the ones we have from Toronto, Myrtle Beach, and San Diego. Then we found ourselves wandering around the Theater District, on the way to acting on a tip from some of Mrs. M’s coworkers and stopping at Junior’s for some “Disco Fries” (a sort of Manhattan Poutine: fries with brown gravy and mozzarella cheese) and the famous cheesecake. I had most of a slice of the chocolate mousse version, while my date had the strawberry cheese pie (which is essentially a cheesecake with — surprise — a pie crust.)
While we sat at our table, a young family — mom, dad, long-haired 8-year-old boy and toddler girl — parked themselves at the next one. I happened to notice that the boy was wearing a Dandy Warhols T-shirt. While I’m sure his parents picked out the shirt for him, I still was impressed, and recognized that I’ll never be at that level of hip.
***
Back on the train after that, with a ride to the Village. While Mrs. M wandered around a bit and picked up her first authentic NYC bagel, I went to one of my favorite places.
I’ve only been to the Mysterious Bookshop twice before this trip, but ever since I learned it existed, it’s had a lot of personal meaning to me. Obviously, as a reader of crime fiction I enjoy the idea of a store that specializes in work I like, but of course it also serves for me as a validation of my adventures in fictioneering. My previous two visits had been with Lawrence Block for signings of anthologies he edited and in which I appeared. That’s the sort of thing that thing that reminds me that I actually get to play in the big leagues in my own way. But this time, I was there simply as a customer, and I bought copies of LB’s Autobiography of Matthew Scudder and Jordan Harper’s short story collection, Love and Other Wounds. I already had both on Kindle, but I guess I’m still enough of a physical media fetishist that I wanted the hard copies. As a bonus, the Scudder book was a signed copy.
As I moved around the store, I noticed a copy of Black is the Night, the Woolrich-themed anthology in which I appeared a couple of years back. I asked the store worker if they’d like me to sign it, and he agreed, so I guess I didn’t lower the value as much as one might think. If you swing by, it may still be there.
***
It was a good thing that we were in the Village anyway, because we had an early dinner date with our friends and former neighbors, Lawrence and Lynne Block. We took a short subway ride to their neighborhood in the West Village, walked a few blocks, and found their building. They had been a bit under the weather recently, but were feeling better and made us quite welcome to their lovely place. After some catching up, we headed to a nearby French restaurant for a spectacular dinner. I had one of the specials, an exceptional blanquette de veau, served on mashed potatoes, while Mrs. M had a chicken dish that she seemed to find delightful. Afterwards, the Blocks and Mrs. M had cappuccino while I had a pot of tea. But the best part was, of course, the company.
Even if El Bee weren’t a friend and mentor, spending time with him and his Frequent Companion(TM pending) would be a delight. they’re terrific hosts and engaging conversationalists. We talked about various topics, including some Harlan Ellison anecdotes that I’ll likely share with future classes. After we finished our coffee and tea, we said goodbye and made it back to the subway and downtown.
***
Easter Sunday meant a bit of knocking around the neighborhood, followed by a subway trip to Union Square, where we grabbed some pizza slices for lunch and settled down at a sidewalk table. Again, the people-watching was excellent, and we split up afterwards so that Mrs. M could investigate local retail while I went to the Strand Bookshop. I found a copy of Matt Goldman’s A Good Family, and spent a nice chunk of time in the rare book section, where among other things, they had a number of original Edward Gorey books and a copy of Ringo Starr’s recent photo book — all of which, alas, were outside my range. Perhaps another time.
From there, I went to the Barnes & Noble flagship on the other side of the Square, and hung out there, eventually meeting up again with Mrs. M and going back to the hotel. Mrs. M picked up some Chinese takeout for me while I rested my knees, and then we relaxed around the room for the rest of the evening.
***
Monday was our last full/real day in town, so after breakfast across the street, we completed our Squares trifecta, adding Herald Square to the previously visited Times and Union versions. We went to Macy’s, and the store’s flower show was (and as of this writing, remains) in progress. Back in my journo days, I worked for a magazine that covered retail design and merchandising, and we’d regularly discuss things like the Christmas window displays, and yes, the flower show. I haven’t written about those since 1998 or so, but it was nice to finally see it for real. Meanwhile, Mrs. M found a cute dress, so that part of the trip was a success.
After that, we went out onto the street, grabbed lunch from a hot dog cart, and availed ourselves of some public seating near the display windows and not far from the Empire State Building. As we sat there, a family was standing nearby. The mother was taking video of the streetscape, narrating in a Romance language I couldn’t hear quite well enough to recognize, but that didn’t stop me from listening. As she panned to the Empire State Building, I heard, among the string of words I didn’t know, “Keeng Kong.” I smiled. Some things are the same across languages.
***
Mrs. M had more shopping to do, but I had another appointment, so I hopped the train to Brooklyn. After getting turned around for a bit, I had the pleasure of meeting David Randall, Director of Communications at the National Association of Scholars. We met in the blogosphere, and have corresponded for some years, but this was our first face-to-face encounter. He took me along the Brooklyn Promenade, and we overlooked the river and talked about the goings-on in academia and the world. Even better, he gave me a quickie tour (suitable for my creaky knees) of the neighborhood, and we found our way to the Starbucks on Montague Street to continue the conversation over coffee. After our adieus, it was a short subway jaunt to the hotel, where Mrs. M and I tested another pizza-by-the-slice place, watched the streetscape from our perch 42 stories up, and then called it a night.
***
When we woke up Tuesday morning, we packed up, occasionally stopping to look out the window at the WTC across the street. “We really are close to where it all happened, aren’t we?” Mrs. M asked.
“Yeah. Matter of fact, this hotel was damaged badly enough that they had to close for about a year and a half afterwards.”
People walked onto the plaza, into the buildings, and toward the North Tower’s pool, beginning days of work, reflection. . . and life. The city and its people persist — and although we were only there for a few days, it felt good to be part of that persistence.
***
The shuttle picked us up on time, and we made it back to LaGuardia in plenty of time to catch our flight home on the unnamed airline. It wasn’t any more comfortable than the trip up, but it got us back to Charlotte, so I reckon we got what we paid for.
It was a good trip. No, we didn’t get to go everywhere we might have wanted to go, but we enjoyed the places we did visit, and besides, that gives us an excuse to head back before too long, right? At the least, I can go into my mid-May knife fight with the satisfaction of having seen some of my favorite people and places again.
See you soon!
Professor Mondo 