The Howling Man, Etc., Etc.

I must admit that Governor Andrew Cuomo’s daily briefings are no longer must-see TV for me. As there’s some light at the end of the tunnel, the need for a reassuring theatrical presence—regularly in my living room—is waning. Another reason—from my perspectiveat least—is that the governor’s largely positive publicity appears to be going to his head, while he dismissively sloughs off reasonable criticism of his job performance. Yesterday, he appeared with Chris Rock and Rosie Perez. The latter referred to the governor as a “rock star.” And, yada yada yada: “We’re New York Tough,” which means “Smart, Disciplined, Unified, and Loving.” 

I saw a local news story about New York City’s rat population feeling the impact of the pandemic and getting increasingly aggressive as a result. Once upon a time, these pernicious rodents thrived amidst the recurring hustle and bustle, jam-packed subway stations, and restaurants’ over-flowing refuse. But that was then and this is now.

I see the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) powers-that-be are contemplating “New World” changes in the way it conducts future business. When the city begins “opening up the valve”—to borrow from rock star Cuomo—it’s going to mean a lot more riders on its subways and buses. Ideas being bandied about include taking customers’ temperatures before allowing them to board and social-distancing circles—six-feet apart, I presume—to stand in. Airport-like security in New York City mass transit sounds rather impractical to me. If, however, it ever comes to that: Have fun enforcing the policies.

Okay, enough already: People, it’s high time you get off your respective high horses! In this corner are the lockdown extremists who relish painting those who want to get back to work as self-centered Neanderthals unconcerned about infecting ninety-two-year-old Grandma, Uncle Bill with his arrhythmia, and neighbor Celia plagued by hypertension. As far as I can tell, these folks are all receiving uninterrupted paychecks of some sort. They are not business owners or the unemployed whose very livelihoods depend on getting back to work soon and in some capacity. And in the other corner are the “mask protesters,” as I overheard a silly neighbor dub herself. What, pray tell, are you protesting, dear lady? Wear a mask when you enter a business or are in a crowded place. Don’t wear one when you’re in the wide-open spaces and cavorting with Mother Nature—a fair compromise, I’d say.

Where I do most of my grocery shopping, I haven’t as yet encountered a non-mask—give me liberty or give me death—fanatic alongside me. The sign on the door clearly states that everyone must wear a mask before entering, which is certainly justified at this unique moment in time and especially in this particular place, New York City. That said, if I ever come across someone inside the market sans a mask, I will not throw in with a mob and pull out my camera to shame that person. It’s up to the individual businesses to enforce the edict, not me. Governor Cuomo keeps telling us how masks work, which is why the first responders, et al., test at lower percentages of COVID-19 positive than the general population. I’ll take his word for it and not tremble with fear when in close proximity to a non-coughing, non-sneezing, non-speaking mask-less person.

Yesterday, I accompanied an individual to a doctor’s appointment at a Manhattan hospital. Our washable cloth masks weren’t sufficient for admittance, we discovered. Complementary hospital-issue disposable ones were supplied to wear over ours or, if we preferred, all by themselves. Anyway, I couldn’t accompany the patient any further than the lobby—double-masked or not—as no visitors were allowed. I figured I could wait in the lobby, which had a series of comfortable chairs more than six-feet apart from each other. But lounging in the lobby was frowned upon. Seems the hospital was doing COVID-19 testing nearby. The lobby’s hip food stand was nonetheless open. I had to stand outside the building where there were no benches. 

On the car-service ride into Manhattan, a plastic sheet separated the driver from his passengers. I had to slip payment through a small cutout in the plastic. The return-trip car had no such barrier. This driver seemed unconcerned and spoke of an imminent vaccine in the works from China. He mentioned, too, that he was now less inclined to eat Chinese food.

A couple of days ago, this guy from the neighborhood—whom I’ve often seen but never acknowledged—glared across a street at me as if he had something to say that was not hello. This surprised me because he always appeared quiet, rather nondescript, and normal, if you will, as he ran errands alone or sometimes with his wife. Last night, I heard a piercing human howl followed by another primal scream. A passing lunatic, I suspected, which is not that uncommon in these parts. I was therefore quite surprised when I heard a third shriek and could put a face on the howling man. It was the very guy who angrily glowered at me for reasons unknown. He probably had a few too many on both occasions. We are, after all, living in stressful times.

The seven o’clock tribute to health care workers and essential workers is still going strong every night. It’s considerably less moving, though, than at the height of epidemic, which is understandable. Perhaps the nightly salute should endure in perpetuity as a reminder of our fragile existence.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)