Is New York Friendlier, or is it me?

Prior to writing Look Me in the Eye, I hardly ever went to New York. Now, as I move through the processes leading to release of my book, I find myself going there regularly. And one of the things I’ve noticed is that the New York I see today is very different from the New York I saw in years past.

Has the city changed, or is it me?

My first encounter with New York came in the mid 1970s when I worked for a local Western Massachusetts band. The guys in the band were doing a session at Studio Instrument Rentals, and we stayed – if my memory is correct - at the old Taft Hotel. It's either that, or we wanted to stay at the Taft, but it cost too much, and we stayed at a less expensive place down the street. Anyway, prior to that visit, I’d read about New York, and New Yorkers, as something to be wary of, and that visit confirmed my suspicions.

When we arrived at the hotel, Peter was surprised to find the rooms cost more than he expected. None of us had a credit card, and we didn’t have much cash, so we made our best deal and packed twelve of us into three rooms.

“Make sure you have your shit out of the room by eleven,” the clerk said as he handed over the keys. “And towels are available over there for twenty five cents each.” Fuck that, I thought. No towels for me.

We split up the rooms. In my room, two of us got the box spring, and two got the mattress on the floor. The rooms were sort of seedy, and the toilets in the men’s room were coin operated. It was clear from the smell that a dime was too much for some patrons, though. There was a brownish scum surrounding the drain in the cracked tile floor.

“Hey! There’s good money in pay toilets.” Never before had the shithouse appeared as a business opportunity.

Bare bulbs hung from the ceiling in spots, and as I got ready for bed, I heard a guy moving slowly down the hall, singing, “Acid. Reds. Speed. Get your acid here. Good Jamacian shit! Anything you want!. Anything at all!”

Well, I thought, he didn’t have anything I wanted. And what he didn’t have, the pimps in the lobby probably did. But I didn’t want that either. What I really wanted, at that moment, was to be back home.

I was sharing the box spring with Captain Vornado, a friend of the band. The mattress looked more comfortable, but there were roaches on the floor. I figured I was safer from critters, a foot off the ground.

The Captain was a short swarthy fellow, with a black motorcycle jacket and leather boots. As we got ready for bed, which for me consisted of taking off my shoes, the Captain withdrew a small pistol from his coat pocket. Placing the gun under his pillow and tossing his jacket on the floor, he said, “Shit, you never know what’ll come through the doorway in a place like this. Don’t make any sudden moves when I’m asleep.” And with that, he was out.

Somewhat worried, I drifted off to sleep. Wishing I had a gun, too, but having to content myself with a four-inch switchblade knife. I made sure the safety was on, so it wouldn’t snap and stab me in the leg. I nodded off to the intermittent sound of screams and thuds down the hall and the occasional siren, and the night passed uneventfully.

The next morning, I checked out the shower, but decided I was already cleaner than the shower stall. I let it slide and went downstairs in search of food. Across the street, the trash was still heaped from the night before. I walked across to check it out, but the smell kept me back.

I noticed one thing right away. The rats had no fear. Back home, rats – if you saw them at all – scattered as soon as a human moved into sight. Not here. These rats stood their ground, staring back at me with bared teeth. Son of a bitch, I thought. They’re all nasty here.

Seeing me and the rats, one of the guys offered some sage advice. “Just make sure everything you eat is cooked good,” he said. “And stay clear of dead ones. They have diseases.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” I said.

The fried eggs cost as much as a steak dinner back home. And then we walked across town to work. They say dogs can sense your fear. Well, people sense other things. That morning, I watched the panhandlers shake down passerby. “Hey buddy! Got some spare change for an old man?”

When the Captain and me walked by, they didn’t say anything. I guess they sensed our frugality. We reached our destination with no loss of funds.

And that’s what it was like for me, in the Big City thirty years ago.