The Magic Eraser

New York's Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA) claims that if it doesn't get a major infusion of cash real soon, it's going to have to—among other unpopular things—cut service by fifty percent! That's a heaping helping of service. The Department of Sanitation has seen its budget slashed and, trust me, it shows. And, yes, the street violence continues unabated, which doesn't appear to concern the woke folk all that much. But at least the crickets are back for their traditional late-summer encore, chirping their familiar swan song to yet another season. It’s been a hot and humid one around here—and an especially wild and wolly one in the wider world—that I’m not going to miss. Of course, I don’t have to go back to school next week. But then many school-aged kids don’t have to go back to school next week either. Or do they? It’s been forty years since I graduated from high school. Wow, that’s a long time in the individual human scheme of things—half a typical lifetime as a matter of fact.

The year was 1980. The “Magic Is Back” was the tagline of the New York Mets ubiquitous promotional campaign that summer. Buoyed by new ownership vowing to be the antithesis of the previously disinterested, tightfisted one, there was—very literally—a hint of magic in the air. Really. The times were definitely a-changin’ for the better, which was most welcome after some sobering and truly disheartening dark years in Fanville.

Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end—summer days free of addictive devices and frothing-at-the-mouth social media. Like 2020, 1980 was a presidential year with the two main parties holding their conventions in summertime. Ronald Reagan received the Republican nomination in Detroit and President Jimmy Carter was re-nominated for a second term right here in New York City. Carter fought off not only a Democratic primary challenger in 1980, but a political dynasty as well. He defeated Senator Ted Kennedy. While Kennedy contemplated his run against a sitting president, The New York Post ran a front-page headline, which reportedly quoted the incumbent: “If Kennedy Runs, I’ll Whip His Ass.” Well, Kennedy in the end ran and Carter, as promised, whipped his ass. I had a political button featuring a replica of that infamous front-page. Simpler times and conventions—but a whole lot more interesting and layered than their vacuous, histrionic 2020 progeny. The contemporary Democrats had a platform but didn’t talk about what was in it. I wonder why? And the Republicans didn’t even bother to have one. In the Trump cult, what's the point? The Republican convention’s roster of speakers sometimes seemed like a who’s who of misfits—a water pistol that shoots jelly kind of thing. These are strange and foreboding times for Americans who care about the nation’s fundamental institutions, most basic freedoms, and peace and tranquility.

With my blood pressure in mind, I didn’t watch a single moment of either convention this month, which I never could have envisioned in 1980. I loved tuning in to party conventions in those days of yore. And it wasn’t the great political issues of the moment that appealed to me; it was the excitement, the real-time lessons in civics and democracy. Despite the candidates having their respective nominations in the bag by convention time, there was still some drama at both of them. At some point in the Republican convention, rumors circulated that former President Gerald Ford was being seriously considered as Ronald Reagan’s running mate. There was talk of a “co-presidency” of sorts, which would potentially alleviate the biggest voter concerns about Reagan as a quick draw and not-quite-ready-for-prime-time player. Reagan ultimately went for the safe pick of the receding, but ever-loyal George H.W. Bush and it paid off.

At the Democratic convention, all eyes were on the vanquished liberal icon, Ted Kennedy, and whether and how he would endorse the man who whipped his ass. Kennedy had a considerable portion of the convention delegates hanging on his every imperial word. His “Dream Shall Never Die” speech brought tears to the eyes of the old-school left, the New Dealers, those classical liberals who believed that America was fundamentally a good place and its Constitution a document worth cherishing and respecting. Kennedy’s eventual endorsement of Carter was halfhearted to say the least.

Well, that was then and this is now. The magic was indeed back in 1980, but now it’s gone—in sports, obviously, and politics, too. Will it ever be back? Can it ever come back? Old Joe talks about being a transitional president. I fear, though, what’s on the other side of the transition. Nevertheless, he’ll have to do at this critical moment. But, as for the magic, it isn’t coming back anytime soon—I’m certain about that.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)

The Way We Are

According to the reviewing site Yelp, there have been 26,160 restaurant closures in the United States during the pandemic months. Approximately sixty percent of them, 15,770, have no plans of reopening. Wandering around parts of New York City this summer has been a sobering, albeit fascinating, experience. I can certainly attest to the dramatically altered landscape. In fact—when all is said and done around here—permanent restaurant closures will almost certainly eclipse sixty percent.

But it’s not just the eateries. In the month of July, there were 13,177 vacant apartments in Manhattan compared with 5,912 a year ago. It is estimated that 420,000 residents left town in the months of March, April, and May—and many of them aren’t coming back. Men and women have been given the green light to return to the office, but most of them continue to work remotely and may never return. Midtown Manhattan is a quasi-ghost town.

The city's theaters are shuttered at least until the end of the year. And even if they are permitted to open up at, say, twenty-five percent capacity, how long can they survive with those minuscule audiences? Not very long. The tourist-dependent restaurants, souvenir shops, and other businesses in the theater district are closed and most of them, I suspect, have no prospects of reopening. I saw a sightseeing bus in my travels—which are ubiquitous in the best of times—with a half-dozen riders on it. Most of their buses remain garaged. It’s actually a very interesting moment to go sightseeing in the city. So, I continue my meanderings in this singular snapshot in time, offering up random observations of this, that, and the other thing. Keeping in mind all the while that the way we were isn’t ever going to be the way we are.

As seen from a passing Number 1 train: my old Catholic grammar school on Godwin Terrace in the Kingsbridge section of the Bronx. It's been leased to the New York City public school system for decades now. Every little bit of revenue helps with the pedophile priest pay-offs.

Excellent Dumpling House lives to serve another day with a great outdoors dining option.

There are pink swans and the one and only Craig Swan. Yes, I can't help but get nostalgic for baseball when it was baseball.

There's a lot of garbage piling up around town and a lot of street dining, too. The latter may help some restaurants survive. But come October, then November, and December...what then? At least the rats are feeling a little better about things.

Hopefully, things will be looking up by the mid- to late-fall. I look forward to the day that I can dine inside this classic old school diner with the world's smallest bathroom.

Now that looks like a pretty tasty slice of New York pizza. It always bothers me to see one like this!

There are, I fear, a few more things to fear.

While I don’t typically take photos of the homeless, I thought this shot spoke volumes about the present state of the city and its many challenges.  

Keep calm and store on...sound advice, I guess.

I see that Mayor de Blasio has not been offered a speaking slot during the virtual Democratic convention. Must have been an oversight.

Also overlooked: Mayor Jenny Durkan of Seattle, Mayor Ted Wheeler of Portland, and Jacob Frey of Minneapolis. I wonder why?

While visiting an elderly relative, I am often compelled to watch the local news with her. It's something that I have sworn off of and now I know why. It's very depressing seeing story after story about shootings, muggings, and murders. And having, too, to sit through one commercial after another between violent takes. The worst of the advertisements are for the shows on in prime time. I don't watch network TV anymore and now I know why. The promos go a long way, though, in explaining why people are nuttier than ever. In simpler times we wistfully wondered "How will she make it on her own?" as she exited for Minneapolis off of I-494 in Bloomington. Food for thought: Would the WJM-TV of today be fully woke and throw-in with the Defund the Police movement in the city?

Luck is what we need in spades...

Truly...

The city's delis have a better chance of surviving this upheaval long-term than standard restaurants, particularly the more delicious ones.

I have long been familiar with the Federal Reserve, but until this weekend I hadn't known that there was a Starbucks Reserve.

Hey McMann &Tate: Is that the best you got!

Blue skies smiling at me...well, actually, that's not the case.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)

The City on the Edge of Forever

At the beginning of the year, New York City was New York City. Its Lurch-like woke mayor presided—and smugly intoned before the camera—but he was largely invisible to me. That is because—for health and wellness reasons—I paid minimal attention to him and local politics in general. What I did observe, however, was life going on, largely as before, with the Big Apple reasonably safe and its services largely efficient. The city’s parks were kept clean and many upgraded. The streets, too, were frequently scrubbed, trashcans always emptied, and the sanitation department separately picked up organic waste. Some subway lines were way past their primes, but the Number 1 train typically made good time.

Granted, the city has been changing through the years—and not for the better—becoming increasingly expensive for starters. Unable to afford the exorbitant rents and comply with an ever-intrusive bureaucracy, mom-and-pop businesses have slowly but surely vanished. It's not a working and middle-class town anymore—more a tale of two cities. But that not-especially pretty picture seems almost nostalgic now—like the good old days. What these past several months—with a pandemic, protests, and rioting—have wrought is absolutely astounding with potentially debilitating long-term consequences.

Vacant storefronts are omnipresent and there are destined to be a whole lot more of them in the near future. Violent crime is a daily occurrence, with the perpetrators clearly emboldened by a demoralized and diminished police department understandably holding back. The police unit dedicated to getting guns off the streets has been disbanded. I just saw a news story where African-American council members pleaded with their vociferous progressive brethren to knock it off with the defunding police blather.  Still, the mayor regularly reassures the citizenry that the city is coming back and coming back strong, although there’s scant evidence that this is the case. Turn on the local news or take a walk on the wild side—like I did this past weekend—and you be the judge.

Vacant stores and more graffiti...now that's the ticket for a better tomorrow...

Happy to see that the Good Stuff Diner lives, but its next-door neighbor has not been so fortunate.

During the bona fide good old days, the 1970s—from my perspective at least—there was a popular restaurant chain called Beefsteak Charlie's. It was in the vanguard of the all-you-can-eat salad bar and also offered unlimited beer, wine, or sangria. What could possibly go wrong with that offer did go wrong with that offer. 

Pandemic plus Manhattan Rents equals For Lease.

 Prime retail space available? It depends on what the meaning of "Prime" is.

Definitely on the move...

Not only have restaurants and eateries fallen by the wayside. Shoegasm is no more.

Capital idea: Let's open a restaurant in New York City now. Business plan in the making.

Hopefully, the third time's the charm.

Happily, Taco Mahal lives for another day with outdoor dining in front of a former business not as lucky.

Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa, men have masked you.

And you, too.

Some people have seen images of G-O-D in old public phone booths. I have seen D-O-G.

There are some hearty survivors hoping to stay afloat with outdoor street dining. Let's pray they can in this city on the brink and not get hit by a wayward bus.

I noticed that many of these outdoor dining areas were pretty packed with hipsters on Saturday morning. 

It isn't just MAGA motorcyclists, rednecks, and Karens who flout pandemic dictums.

There's no such thing as a free lunch or mask, in this instance, when there is nobody in the station booth.

Only the winds of time will tell what will become of New York City. Subway ridership is down eighty percent. The man impersonating a mayor has filled three Upper West Side hotels, which once upon a time catered to international tourists, with homeless, substance abusers, and sex offenders, too. It's a sad, complex, and growing problem. Still, that $3,000/month studio apartment in the vicinity just might not look like a bargain anymore. To be continued...

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)

Reflections on Stinky Times

Recently, I spotted a car with a Kennedy-Johnson bumper sticker. It wasn’t affixed—sixty years ago—on a pre-1960s vehicle bumper. Rather, it was a subtle but powerful contemporary statement, lost, no doubt, on the Millennials in their myriad hashtag worlds. I know, it's easy to poke fun at Millennials—they are not all created equal—but so many of the guys sound the same. From my ear: Just like the Amazon code phone call voice. 

Anyway, what the bumper sticker hammered home to me was this: We are living in stinky times on a whole host of fronts. There was a time when politicians earned their initials. JFK-LBJ was quite a ticket, following in the ample footsteps of FDR. From the New Deal to the New Frontier. Now we have AOC, a media-made grandstander. Can you appreciate the decline? The pandemic and all that it has wrought has merely enhanced the stink, literally and figuratively. Nevertheless, I continue to wonder as I wander. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. 

For starters this: For the first time in eighty-seven years, the Rockettes have been grounded. No Christmas Spectacular in 2020.

Once upon a time when the lights were lit, I saw Engelbert Humperdinck there. It's a complicated back story that involved Regis Philbin, may he rest in peace.

Hey, Mike Bloomberg, do you want to contribute to a worthwhile charity? Double what you spent running for president will suffice.

How about a billion plus for the city you love, which will hardly make a dent in your net worth. For the city, by the way, that you left in not very capable hands. If, by the way, you want to get a fix on the caliber of Bloomberg's successor, may I refer you to his presidential campaign.

Hey, if Prometheus can wear a mask, so can you!

Back to Mayor Mike, the philanthropist. The police budget has been cut by one billion dollars. Watching the local news nowadays is akin to having a ringside seat at the O.K. Corral. Looking on the bright side, it's not the Windy City, although it was pretty windy today.

So, how about one billion for the police...

And another one hundred million for the sanitation department, whose budget has been cut by that figure, which hasn't gone unnoticed. 

One final aside on the local news: The amount of commercials run during them is too much to bear. Infomercials even air during the news broadcasts. But, I get it: These are stinky times. Remembering fondly Jim Jensen, Rolland Smith, and Carol Martin.

Saturday was a beautiful day for baseball Let's play two. On second thought, one is too much. For a long time now, Major League Baseball has not been the game that I once knew and loved. But in these stinky times the sport—among others—has gone political. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks...

Thank you! But I wish there were some garment workers left in the Garment District.

This is an all too common sight around New York City. The aforementioned service cuts leave these street litter baskets overflowing for days at a time. It just adds to the abiding misery. And it stinks!

Remember me to Herald Square.

In these stinky times, it's easy to get steamed. Back to the FDR-JFK-LBJ-AOC monikers for a moment. Referring to the statue of Father Damien of Molokai, a canonized saint, in the U.S. Capitol, AOC remarked, “This is what patriarchy and white supremacist culture looks like!” Really? The man ministered to an isolated leper colony in a remote part of Hawaii. He died of the disease and is considered a hero by many.  

A new term used by the news media to describe people who can't afford sufficient groceries: food insecurity. There's a lot of that in these parts and virtually everywhere else.

It's getting near that time. What will the college experience look like this year?

In my alma mater, woke-inspired protests will begin, I fear. An English professor was quoted in the local paper, The Riverdale Press, that Manhattan College, which is in the Bronx, is being "exclusionary" by listing its address as Riverdale, New York. Riverdale is a neighborhood in the Bronx. Got that. I feel fortunate that I attended college in the 1980s and not now...no straight jacket required...and it was a lot cheaper.

The train's leaving the station. Don't let it leave without you.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)