I’m a country boy. When my parents married, he had recently been
discharged from the Navy after serving in WWII. Using his separation pay as a
down payment, they purchased a 23-acre piece of land in what at the time was a
very undeveloped part at the north end of Wolcott, CT. (*1) There was a small
pond and lots of woods. I’ve written about it before (*2), so I’ll not repeat
it here.
Growing up that somewhat isolated area of town (*3), I
enjoyed the relative isolation. There was very little truck traffic on Rt. 69
those days, so things were quiet. The loudest noises at night were the “peepers”
(tree frogs). The night sky was filled with stars with no street lights to
overwhelm the twinkling lights of God’s handiwork. Thus I really grew to enjoy
the country.
After my own marriage we lived for a few years in the
equally small town of Prospect, CT where we rented a house on a dead-end road.
After we moved to PA in 1975 and could finally afford a house of our own, we
went shopping for land in the country. We bought a 4-acre piece of land at the
end of a dead-end road and down a private lane (which was just a dirt lane at
the time). While the area has grown up in the 40+ years since then, when people
or workers come to visit us, they still frequently comment how quiet and peaceful
it is out here.
I have relatives who live in cities such as New York City or
Chicago and they love the vibrant life there. But that’s not for me. Downtown
Philadelphia is only an hour away, but in the 45 years I’ve lived in PA, I’ve
visited it fewer than a dozen times.
But in this blog I’d like to recount an incident that
happened over 50 years ago that impacted my views of being in large cities.
The year was 1969, the month was August, it was about 4:30
in the afternoon. I had turned 21 earlier that month. I had received my
bachelor’s degree earlier that year and was getting ready to start graduate
school right after Labor Day. I had been working for the summer for Uniroyal
and writing a Corporate Funding Model for their international division. Although
the corporate headquarters was in Oxford, CT, that division was headquartered
in the Uniroyal Building in Rockefeller Center. Thus, the presentation of the
system needed to take place in NYC.
I had purchased a train ticket to New York that would take
me from Waterbury, CT early that morning and, not knowing how long the
presentation would last, I had a return ticket for early evening. It had not
taken as long as I thought it might to make the presentation (it was very well
received), so I had a few hours to kill before going back to Grand Central
Station for my train.
I wandered around the city for a while – Times Square, Rockefeller
Plaza, etc. – looking at all the sights which were new to me. But it was a
sultry August afternoon and so when I walked past Bryant Park on 6th
Avenue (Avenue of the Americas) which was right behind the New York Public
Library, the trees, grass, and park benches looked inviting. I chose a vacant
bench not too far into the park and sat down.
I hadn’t been sitting long when a lady wandered into the park from the nearby entrance. I could tell from her attire and very short dress that she was probably a prostitute and her invitation to me confirmed my suspicions. The most recent rush hour from men leaving work had just gone by and she had not found any “customers” so was looking for one in the park. I made it clear to her that I wasn’t interested and she moved on to another occupied bench to continue her search. I thought to myself, “that was interesting,” as I had never had that experience before.
But before I could even complete my thought on the matter, I
looked up and an older man was approaching my bench and he sat down next to me.
His clothing was pretty rough and he looked like he probably slept in them each
night on the street. He began an immediate conversation talking about how he
went to the library every day and was trying to improve his mind. I tried to be
polite and respond appropriately, but, as he talked, he kept reaching for my
hand which he wanted to hold. I kept withdrawing it from his grasp, making it
clear that I was not interested in the type of relationship he was seeking, so
he eventually got the message, got up, and left. I thought, “gee, another new
experience, perhaps I should not be sitting here!”
But before I could act on those thoughts, I was again
approached – this time by two teenaged black youth. One, carrying a brown paper
bag, sat down next to me, and the other went around the back of the bench and
stood behind me where I could only see him out of the corner of my eye. The one
next to me started the conversation by saying, “do you know what I have in my
bag?” I didn’t answer, so he opened the top of it so I could see a moderate-sized
knife, partially concealed with some paper, and the blade pointed in my
direction. He next said, “I’d like your wallet.”
By this time, I was pretty frustrated in my experience in
Bryant Park, so I responded, “I like my wallet, too.” This was not the response
that he was expecting and he was taken aback by it. He next said something
like, “Look, I’ll just take the money and you can keep the wallet.” I replied, “I’m
partial to everything in my wallet.” We went back and forth a few more times,
with me noting that I had a train to catch and needed the money for it and he
looking for ways to get me to give him my cash. Finally, I decided the
conversation needed to end, and grabbing his hand (the one holding the paper
bag with the knife in it), I shook it as I stood up and thanked him for the
conversation as I quickly walked to the opening onto the street perhaps 10-15
feet away.
As I descended the steps to the street, I glanced down at my
watch. I had been in Bryant Park for all of 10 minutes. In that short span of
time, I had been accosted by a hooker, a homosexual, and two black teens with a
knife!
That cemented my feeling that I am not fond of cities. I
walked the few blocks to Grand Central Station where I spent the remainder of
my time before the train arrived just walking and people watching.
Do you like cities? If so, then you are welcome to them. But
for me, I’ll stay in the country where the stars shine at night and it’s quiet
enough that I can hear the train whistles at the crossing in Macungie over 6
miles away.
Notes:
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