The Summer Wind

There was a blackout in parts of Manhattan last evening. The culprit was a manhole fire. Coincidentally, the night the lights went out on Broadway occurred on the anniversary of the more widespread New York City blackout of 1977, when the hapless Mayor Beame chided local utility Con Edison for its "gross negligence." Yesterday’s power snafu was also brief by comparison. The looters didn’t even have time to raise an army. Anyway, it’s summertime and feels like it…

Well, what do you know: It's the "sweetheart of the corn" on a hot corner across from the police precinct. On the trash basket is a notice that it's against the law to deposit household trash in it.

I'm Sirius: The "dog days of summer" have arrived.

I came upon this heavy tool or weighty screw—whatever it is—on Broadway under the El. It was just lying there—unclaimed and unwanted—for days. I wondered how it got there and whether it fell from above. If, by chance, it did fall from on high, somebody—to employ a cliché—could have been killed.

New York's Bravest support their favorite baseball team. I say: Let's go Mets!

When a rickety old wooden park bench isn't good enough.

I have often passed Genius Tailor in Manhattan. If I ever required the services of a tailor, I thought more than once, I'd take my business there. And if I ever required the services of a builder, I now know who to call. 

At the Van Cortlandt Park subway terminal, I recently spied a sign of the times specifically for Metropolitan Transportation Authority employees. It stated in no uncertain terms to lay off the smartphones while on the job—a rather dangerous one involving high-voltage electricity and fast-moving trains. 

It's a point well taken...

And speaking of smartphones: I feel nervous enough on narrow subway platforms with fellow passengers blindly staring into them. These oblivious folks are blissfully unaware that passersby are a hip-check away from getting thrown in front of a fast-moving train.

While descending a subway station stairwell on the Fourth of July, I snapped this picture of Old Glory blowing in the wind. Gave proof through the night that our flag—and the Punch Bowl—were still there.

Also on Independence Day, I encountered a dopey kid—not unusual—who made himself quite comfortable over several subway car seats. When a woman entered—with unoccupied seats by then at a premium—he was compelled to sit up straight. The peeved passenger had to brush dirt away before sitting down.

The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island on the Fourth. Strange times we live in.

I realize this is a park bench, but the image found me singing: "One bottle of beer on the wall, one bottle of beer. Take one down and pass it around, no more bottles of beer on the wall."

 As I recall from my driver's education, a Stop Sign means that one has to come to a complete stop before proceeding. I guess that's not taught in driver's ed anymore.

In New York City, love is in the air...or is it ozone...

In any event, it's generating sparks.

Here comes the one. Here comes the one. And I say it's all right.

I lost you to the summer wind. In the 1940s, my grandfather was searching for a home of his own—an immigrant's dream. He loved this particular one because it featured a considerable adjoining lot where he could plant a garden. But it wasn't to be because my grandfather needed a multiple-family house with a tenant to help pay his mortgage. Besides, a friend of his told him that there were ample empty lots in Kingsbridge—which there were at the time—where he could garden. Footnote: When I was a boy three decades later, the yard pictured had cherry and pear trees on it. The owners that I knew never gardened, barbecued, or even sat out in their expansive and rather rare grassy lawn in the Bronx. 

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)