Tale of Two Weekends

Temperatures topped fifty degrees on both Saturday and Sunday. It’s the January thaw, I guess. Daytime highs barely reached twenty a week earlier. In both the cold times and not-so-cold times, I visited Battery Park. And what a difference a week made.

One week ago, tourists in the vicinity of the World Trade Center were hard to come by. I didn’t see any tour boats in the harbor either. Roaming around that blustery part of town with wind chills near zero is not for the faint of heart—take my word for it. I didn’t linger very long at water’s edge. Instead, I found myself a pizza shop to simultaneously satisfy my craving and rest my cold and weary bones. The place had a large sign in its interior: “The Best Pizza in New York.” Suffice it to say, it wasn’t the best pizza in town, but I’ve tasted worse—a whole lot worse. (See my previous blog for the photographic evidence.) My biggest problem with this pizza parlor was its two doors, which were left ajar. Seeing one’s breath at the lunch table doesn’t exactly enhance dining ambiance. Interestingly, a couple of Yelp reviewers of the place complained about its lack of air-conditioning and stifling dining room in the summertime.

Such are the sands of time. It will be hot as hell soon enough. I noticed last week a missing Nathan’s hot dog cart, which was not in its familiar spot on Vesey Street. I assumed it wouldn’t return until spring. But lo and behold, it was back in business this weekend. Yesterday, I couldn’t resist a couple of their “famous” frankfurters: crunchy, salty, and perversely tasty. However, I passed on their equally “famous” greasy crinkle French fries. That gastro ship has definitely sailed.

The New York City homeless population is also less visible on the streets on the bitterest of cold days. They are forced into shelters, I presume, because there is real estate that belongs to homeless men and women—specific spots where the same folks can almost always be found. The balmier weather brought everybody back. It’s a sad situation for sure.

In the arctic weather, subway cars and underground stations house more homeless than usual. Last week, I entered the last car of a Bronx-bound Number 1 train on my return trip home and found three passengers in it—all homeless. Two of the three appeared to be a couple and were animatedly raving to one another. I sensed a degree of menace in the land down under and, as I was in no particular rush to get home, I exited the train at the next stop. What do I find but a homeless man encamped right outside the door. I couldn’t therefore wait for the next train and its last car at that end of the station. So, I walked to other end. It was there that I discovered a shuttered women’s bathroom—a relic of a kinder and gentler past in the big city.

Speaking of the homeless, a man entered the subway yesterday looking, smelling, and behaving like he was on the destitute side of the ledger. But he didn’t ask for any money and was carrying a working smartphone. He strolled through the car and got off at the next stop. Shortly thereafter, another fellow got on, took a seat, and was alternatively laughing and ranting for several stops—the kind of guy that, were I alone, would force me to employ the Charles Manson Rule and make like a tree and leave. But I wasn’t alone. After a while the chap got up and sinisterly repeated over and over: “I don’t have a job. Can anybody give me some money?” He appeared angry and unfocused as he raced through the car and into the next one. Clearly, panhandling wasn’t his thing.

It’s a strange age we live in. I saw a homeless guy on the street with all his accoutrements, including a sign elaborating on his sorry state. He was talking on a cell phone when I passed by. And in the aforementioned frosty pizza shop, a teenager ate his pizza alongside of me. He was engrossed with his device the whole time. Likewise captivated by a device, a friend met him there. The pair somehow managed to eat, converse, and make plans for the day without ever looking up. I was impressed. One final note: The tour boats were back in the harbor this weekend. It's too bad Lady Liberty was off-limits.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)