New York, New York

(from 2014)

“New York, New York” - so sang Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, and the one no-body remembers, Jules Munchin, in “On the Town” - a paean to the bright lights and gaiety of the city, as seen by three all-singing, all-dancing sailors on a day’s shore leave. (Somewhat cleaned up from the reality I suspect).

My own impressions of New York were somewhat prejudiced by seeing too many re-runs of world-weary Jerry Orbach as Lennie Briscoe stumbling around in “Law and Order.” New York seemed to have dead bodies everywhere, and always seemed dark and dreary. I subsequently learned that they did most of their filming in the winter months. (Americans probably watch “Inspector Morse” and think that Oxford is the murder capital of the world).

Anyhow, I arrived in June.

It was hot. It was big. It was noisy. It was also surprisingly clean. At least the bits I went to.

Now everything is comparative, but I am sure that many Americans visiting Britain are none too impressed by the litter on the pavements (or is that trash on the sidewalks?), the graffiti, and general run-down look of so many places. The capital city of the country where I live is actually a very nice small city as UK cities go, but first impressions at the bus and rail station must be off-putting to visitors who experience and expect better.

Anyhow – enough of my problems with my own country – New York, New York.

I liked the wide diversity of nationalities and cultures.

I didn’t like the way people drive. It was almost as bad as France and Spain. And as for Kamikaze cyclists determined to take out elderly Brits on the Brooklyn Bridge...

I liked the food. I am told I will soon be American shaped. (Take that however you wish).

I didn’t like the Municipal records office which seemed quite unconcerned that they had lost a certain John Coolidge’s death certificate. Anyone would think that researchers and visitors are an occupational hazard, interfering with what their office does. Whatever that is.

I liked seeing an exhibition of rare Bibles, only to see a detailed caption on one exhibit quoting from an article I wrote over twenty years ago...

It is great to visit.

However, I wouldn’t want to live here.

Although I grew up in London in the swinging sixties, I now prefer a bit of peace and quiet and trees and fields and the gentle noise of the occasional sheep.

We behaved like tourists. Mrs O and our female host went off shopping and to see sights like the Statue of Liberty, Staten Island, Central Park, and Macey’s.

You know, all the boring stuff.

In contrast, myself and our male host visited libraries. Well, I mean you have to get your priorities right. I have been nagging my host to visit certain places for me for rather a long time. But because he lives on top of them, somehow the urgency was lost. But I was determined to visit and spend some lovely hours checking out things that might have escaped the official catalog. So we did Columbia University library, and found a little bit of gold. We also checked out a record office, where the sad demise of 25 year old Grace Mundy in a Brooklyn gasoline fire in 1914 was documented. Grace was the first to be buried at a special cemetery in Pittsburgh and have her name inscribed on a pyramid.  As you do. Or rather, as you did. Although we didn’t quite make it to the library that has George Storrs’ laundry list from 160 years ago. Maybe on the way home in a week and a half’s time.

Finally as a foursome we did the official headquarters of a certain organization, saw an exhibition on their history – which various ones had sent me photos of in the past, but now I took my own – and stayed to lunch with one of their writers.

And to-morrow Mrs O and I head on the Amtrak for Pittsburgh. Why Pittsburgh of all places? Well, one least one blog reader knows. And what is that flapping sound I hear? Surely not a pixie flapping her wings with jealousy (a reference to the original blog owner when first posted).