METROPOLITAN DIARY
'Spotting famous people on the street, a night outside the Met and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Star Struck
Dear Diary:
In 1971, I yelled “hello” to Ed Sullivan as he was walking near the General Motors Building near the south end of Central Park. No response.
I said a loud “hello” to Dick Barnett of the New York Knicks in Midtown in 1972, but he did not glance in my direction.
In 1973, I yelled out to Elston Howard, the former Yankees catcher, as he walked out of a supermarket in Teaneck, N.J. No response.
Jon Bon Jovi walked past me in SoHo several years ago. I nodded my head. (I’m older now.)
He smiled and nodded back.
— Rich Herman
Night Outside the Museum
Dear Diary:
I went for a nighttime walk to the Metropolitan Museum. On my way, I passed a bodega and a pharmacy that had “for lease” signs out front. I saw some people sitting outside at a restaurant, finishing their drinks before the place shut down for the night.
When I got to the Met, I sat on the steps and listened to the lulling sound of the fountains on either side. I saw a family beside the fountain to my left, a couple with what appeared to be high school- or college-age children home for a summer visit. They were having wine.
They asked me hesitantly if I would take their picture in front of the museum’s steps. They thanked me three times as they left.
At the fountain to the right, I saw another family with young children who were splashing in the water. The littlest ones were giggling nonstop.
In front of me, I saw two empty hot-dog stands waiting for their chance to serve customers again.
Just then, a pack of motorcyclists vroomed down Fifth Avenue, the two at the front popping wheelies that were dangerously high while waving their arms.
I noticed the distinct smell of marijuana coming from behind me. I breathed in deeply, smiled and began to walk home.
When I was almost there, I saw the motorcyclists again. They were making their way up First Avenue this time, the two in front still popping wheelies.
I waved and continued on.
— Katie Perkowski
At the Library
Dear Diary:
I was visiting my favorite aunt in New York City. She had been a librarian before retiring. Naturally, we went to the main New York Public Library to admire its many decorative features.
It felt crowded to us, but my aunt, who was 86, acted as though it were another normal day.
At one point the five of us — me, my aunt, my redheaded wife and our two fair-haired young daughters — were standing in one of the bigger rooms gawking at the ceiling, murals and large windows.
As we stood there between the rows of tables, taking in the breadth of the room and all of its books, a young man who was obviously in a hurry to get wherever he was going came toward us.
“Out of the way, Brady Bunch!” he said.
— Robert Beck
Open Face
Dear Diary:
I had just moved to New York City after graduating from college. After sleeping on a friend’s couch in Harlem for a week, I headed out with my suitcase to find my own apartment.
After a humid summer day traversing the city on the sticky subway and touring walk-ups, I was weary, disheveled and anxious about my rental options. Lugging my suitcase along a bumpy sidewalk a few blocks east of New York University, I began to cry openly in the street.
I spotted a diner and decided to retreat inside for a meal that I hoped would bring me some solace.
I sat down at the counter on a swivel stool. Through my red-rimmed eyes, I scanned the menu and ordered a milkshake and a cheeseburger.
With my suitcase jammed under my legs, I consulted the city map my father had given me and weighed my options while I waited for my food.
In a few minutes, the waiter appeared with my food. The burger was open face. On the patty, he had squirted the ketchup into a happy face.
I looked up to see him smiling and giving me a thumbs-up. I smiled back. Then I ate my meal, composed myself and headed out to continue my search.
— Rebecca Sather
That’s the Ticket
Dear Diary:
In 1982, not long after my friend Al and I were hired at Gouverneur Hospital on the Lower East Side, we began to explore our new neighborhood.
One day, Al brought a pair of shoes to a local shoemaker to have new heels put on.
The shoemaker said he could pick them up on Thursday.
“Don’t I get a ticket?” Al said.
“I’ve been on this corner for 30 years,” the shoemaker said. “That’s your ticket.”'
— Henry Rosenberg
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/04/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
