Throughout my life, I have lived by specific rules that have shaped over my life journey. One of them has always been, “If you take care of your neighborhood, your neighborhood will take care of you.” Remember, I am a third generation, Manhattan-born and bred. There aren’t many of us “natives” who stay here for their entire lives. I have. Sadly, most of my fellow New Yorkers have not believed in that aforementioned philosophy in some time.
Yes, there have been moments in the last 25 years that would contradict that such as 9/11, the blackout of 2003, SuperStorm Sandy and more. But those are fleeting moments in time that require comradery for survival, whether physical or emotional matter not.
What I am talking about are the everyday New Yorkers, like me, that know the people in their community. Those that walk around their neighborhood and know the people who work in stores, the managers, and dishwashers at restaurants, and that protect the vulnerable who need it from whatever evil is present, perceived or otherwise. In other words, those who take care of their neighborhood. Tragically, these people are few and far between.
NEIGHBORHOOD OF YESTERDAY
When I was a little boy, growing up on Central Park West in one of the most amazing buildings in the world, the El Dorado, the Upper West Side still had a neighborhood mentality. Granted, parts of it were extremely dangerous, but back in the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s, what wasn’t in this town? I remember my nanny, Henrietta Lumpkins, walking me down 91st street to Columbus Avenue. We would stop at D’Agostino’s (when the actual D’Agostino family still owned it) to pick up some essentials for the day, talking to the manager and cashiers who all knew us. Then we would go a block south to 90th and stop in Arthur’s, one of the last soda fountains in the city, to pick up pretzels and the like for my morning at the playground. We knew the owner’s daughter who at one point photographed my mother for a university project and her portfolio. She managed the mornings at Arthur’s. I would sit at the fountain talking to the nice lady behind the counter (I don’t remember her name sadly though I think it was Mary). Then we would go next door to Rappaport Pharmacy to see the older brother, Alan (no one liked the younger brother with the mustache), who always made a big deal of saying hi to us. And as we made our way down Columbus Avenue and weaved back to Central Park, we would see a myriad of neighborhood characters who we would always say hello to. Even when we went to the Loews movie theater on 84th and Broadway, we knew everyone who worked there, and they knew us.
Fast forward to my teen years. At night, I would still go down to D’Agostino’s and say hi, then head south to the corner of 89th & Columbus and stop into Winston’s Deli (Arthur’s was long gone) to talk to Ralph behind the counter, pick up whatever was needed and then head into Bella Luna (which is now on the corner of 88th and Columbus) for dinner and cocktails before heading out bar or club hopping.
I knew everyone in our neighborhood. And they knew me. My point is that back then, no matter your upbringing or class, people still grew up believing in neighborhood sentiment.
FAITH RESTORED
I remember thinking recently that this mentality was all but gone. Since my health crisis in January, I have pretty much been home bound with only the ability to venture a couple of blocks. My next-door neighbors Jeff, Brooke, and their daughter (whose name I won’t publish for privacy reasons), are amazing. Same with Natella (who lives a few buildings over) who helped me at the ER that fateful January 13th. And the seniors in my building that I normally help to care for have just been incredible. Friends around Gramercy have asked Kylie how I am doing, as have the store owners and workers around my neighborhood. So, that has restored some of my faith in this mentality.
I do have to say special thanks to a dear friend in public relations who recently introduced me to a couple, via video chat, that really reminded me of why I have always believed in the “neighborhood” mentality. They also helped me remember why I have chosen to spend the last 48 (almost 49) years living in our great city. I think you’ll understand why when you read the My New York Story by Kristi Hemric piece a couple of pages before this column.
THE FINAL WORD
New York does have local communities that help each other. And neighborhoods do still exist…you just need to care enough to be a part of them. Start participating. You will be amazed by what you see, and feel.