During the summer semester of 1985, I lived on 122nd street just off Amsterdam Avenue in New York City. It was Columbia University housing and was grungy and dingy. I had dozens of roommates with more legs than we humans possess, if you catch my drift. Regardless of the living conditions, it was a glorious eyes wide open summer full of new experiences and lasting memories. While keeping up with my studies, I spent many hours on the basketball court playground just up the street. I wandered into the group of neighborhood ballplayers as an unknown.
After a few games, I was deemed worthy and finally accepted. The crowning achievement from this rag tag group was when I was anointed with a nickname. Due to my background, I was labeled as: “Idaho”.
Begrudgingly, I had to return to BYU for the fall semester and the approaching graduation. While there in New York, I had applied for admission to Columbia University for graduate studies in physical therapy. I did receive a letter of acceptance a few months later but chose to go to Texas Medical Center instead, due to economic factors. (a choice I have questioned many times over the years)
I am happy to report that last week, for 5 days, “Idaho” returned to New York. The purpose was to visit my son who lives in nearby Greenwich, CT and wander down memory lane. Here are some “Idaho” observations and memories to help paint the picture.
I painfully learned that my knees and back are no longer college aged. NYC is a walkable city, but I am not a walk tolerant visitor. I have been home now for several days, and I am still sore!
The subways are cleaner and more well-lit now than they were in 1985. We rode it several times and I felt comfortable and safe, despite the recent news reports of tragic crimes.
Two of the skyscrapers I visited back in ‘85, are no longer there. I was sad and somber while standing at the reflecting pool at Ground Zero-nothing more needs to be said for you to feel the effect that I felt at that moment.
New Yorkers are in love with their horns. It took me two full days to stop turning around to see who was honking at me to wave hello! It also took a couple days, and many reminders from my son to: “Stop gawking and pointing at things Dad! You have to blend in and not look like a tourist!” I thought to myself: “How the heck do two tall (6’8” and 6’6”), bald guys with loud deep voices blend in?”
There are no trucks on NYC streets. By trucks, I mean the Dodge RAM 1500, Ford F150 or Chevy Silverados, we are used to seeing here in Idaho. I did not see such a vehicle until the last afternoon on the drive to JFK airport. Even then, it had an out of state license plate.
Food in NYC is the experience that is not superseded by any other place on earth. My best breakfast was a container of potstickers from the bodega (convenience store) across the street from my hotel. We covered all the basic food groups of pizza, pasta, chinese food, Thai food, street vendor hot dogs and Brookly style onion smash burgers. It is difficult for me to pick which meal was best. We avoided the well known tourist restaurants and favored those small, mom and pop, hole in the wall eateries.
Overall, the streets and alleys are cleaner than I remember them being. But graffiti is still prominent in most neighborhoods. The location of some of the artwork baffled me. It was not just at ground level. I am still trying to figure out how the artists got their “tags” so highly placed on building walls and bridges.
I did not see as many homeless souls as I expected. Fewer than what I used to observe in my wanderings. I am sure they are there, somewhere, just maybe not in the neighborhoods we walked.
Grand Central Station, an architectural edifice all on its own, answered my wish to see some street musicians, or buskers as they are called. One talented gentleman playing Christmas tunes on a trumpet and another strumming a guitar in an improvisational style. I did not toss a dollar in their basket, but I should have.
Transportation in New York is unique from here in Idaho. Several options are available from a yellow cab, to Uber, to city bus or subway. Human powered motion on either foot or bicycle is the cheapest option. I took note that the bicycle traffic was almost entirely of the e-bike variety at speeds approaching dangerous for pedestrians. Their helmets also caught my eye. Full head style with a face shield that could be retracted. Much more protection from closed head injuries than those mushroom cap styles I used to strap on my kid’s heads.
Several times during this short visit, I found myself thinking that I could live here again. With the right income…I could live here. I even looked at different apartment buildings as we walked, wondering how much the rent was, the conditions inside, etc. Would I need to bring my Idaho Dodge RAM 1500 or would I get by with public transportation and my legs? I was slowly becoming convinced until my delayed flight landed back in Salt Lake and I threw my bags into my truck to drive home. As I hit the gas to exit the airport and felt the horsepower and examined the wide open valley with an inch or two of fresh snow, I knew my answer… Nope! I am where I am supposed to be. “Idaho” can visit New York, but “Idaho” cannot live in New York. At least not this “Idaho”.
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We welcome comments, however there are some guidelines:
Keep it Clean: Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexual language. Don't Threaten: Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated. Be Truthful: Don't lie about anyone or anything. Be Nice: No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading. Be Proactive: Report abusive posts and don’t engage with trolls. Share with Us: Tell us your personal accounts and the history behind articles.