Never Again…Again

(Originally published 9/3/17)

It’s the unofficial end to another summer. And despite my passionate distaste for the season’s heat and humidity, there’s always something melancholy about its swan song. Like no other, summer's end underscores the passage of time and, yes, death itself. The fledgling days of fall have the uncanny knack of commingling sticky summer-like days with crisp autumn ones. Memories of returning to school during that annual weather tug-of-war remain intense and unpleasant. Despite not experiencing a new school year since 1984, that glum, nervous-stomach state of mind isn’t easily forgotten.

The beginning of Labor Day weekend 2017 found me in Battery Park along with thousands of tourists from all over the world. Willing to brave the long lines to board boats, which take them to Liberty Island, Ellis Island, and on tours of New York Harbor, they are a hearty bunch indeed. When I visited Lady Liberty some forty-five years ago, it was a simpler time for sure. There was no navigating through “airport-style security” before boarding the boat.

I also encountered tourists snapping pictures alongside a very big man on stilts or two dressed as the Statue of Liberty. The next best thing to the real thing, I guess. Was he or they licensed to do that? Doubtful. Whatever the case may have been, this Herman Munster-sized fellow received gratuities from the posing minions that, I’d calculate, tallied up to a nice piece of change. There was no shortage of customers. Actually, I thought the Statue of Liberty guy looked sort of scary and more like the Winter Warlock—but then the Statue of Liberty up-close is kind of frightening, too.

Aside from the hustle and bustle of the madding crowds, that part of Manhattan is overrun with men and women whose job it is to persuade visitors to call on the Statue of Liberty or take some bus or harbor tour. Based on commissions, the competition is at once cutthroat and intrusive. Two pitchmen almost came to blows over some territorial issue. This aggressive scenario is likewise on display in the environs of Times Square.

The Statue of Liberty isn’t the only statue in that area of the city. There are a lot of them around. I can’t help but look at these various monuments differently now. The New York Daily News recently featured a front-page headline: “Statues of Irritation.” An article therein chronicled the names of individuals whose statues are controversial, including the usual suspect, Christopher Columbus, but also some surprising figures. Progressive New York City Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia (1934-45) was on the list—and he has a high school and airport named after him—as was Ulysses S. Grant. “He’s got two statues in Brooklyn,” the piece noted, “and his tomb in Manhattan.” Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb? He who must not be named. Joseph Pulitzer also made the list. He’s not only got a statue in the city, but a prize named after him. In my travels, I passed by the Ape & Cat (At the Dance) statue in Battery Park. If the statue committee digs deeper, they’ll unearth some dirt on it.

The icing on the cake of yesterday’s escapade in these crazy times was my breaking a “never again” vow, one that I made several years ago. Vis-à-vis hot dog purchases from street vendors, the law of diminishing returns had been at play for years. The youthful me loved them; the adult me, not so much. In fact, they were becoming borderline inedible. I finally said: No mas. I would not purchase a hot dog or, worse still, a hot hot dog, christened a hot sausage, on the street. Yet, I ordered two hot sausages and a twenty-four-ounce bottle of lukewarm water to wash them down. I sat in earshot of the Staten Island Ferry entrance and consumed this curious repast. One thing cannot be denied: They were spicy hot all right. But never again…again.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)