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Just
Married (in the snow). Photo: JH.
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On
Thursday night I first went down to Brooke and Peter Duchin’s where
they were having their annual Christmas Party for the New York
City Opera. Although Peter wasn’t there this year because
he was down in Dallas playing a big party. The closely-knit
group of sixty or seventy were members of the board or various
directors’ councils of the organization, along with wives,
husbands, partners.
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Brooke's
mini Christmas tree
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The Duchins
end up giving this party every year at least partly because everyone
loves going to their house. It’s an apartment loft and is
spacious yet cozy. When you get off the elevator and enter, the
first thing you see is a black grand piano with someone playing
Christmas carols and people centered around singing them.
The kitchen and dining room are the adjacent space to
the left of the piano and crowd central. The counters were filled
with those heavenly little triangle tea sandwiches that are as compulsive
eating as chocolates or potato chips: you just wanna have one more.
On the stove this year was a large pot of what Brooke calls “Root
Soup” which includes ginger, turnip, and squashes. Thick and
aromatic, it was being served hot to drink in little glass cups.
All this while outside it was cold, and the talk was of the forecasted
snowstorm. Very warm and fuzzy, it was at the Duchins’.
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Alex
Hitz, Brooke Duchin, and DPC with their Root Soup
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Afterwards,
I was told, about twenty stayed on for a meatloaf dinner. The Duchin
style (both Brooke and Peter’s) is very alluring: welcoming,
homey, never fancy, and yet very sophisticated. The décor
of their abodes, mainly I guess to be Brooke’s doing, is
highly eclectic, quirky, fascinating to the eye, and, like everything
else, welcoming.
I could only stay a few minutes for I had
to go on up to the Grand Hyatt on Forty-second
Street where they were holding their annual black tie
fundraising dinner for Hazelden. This annual event is
supported by, among others, Bill and Judith Moyers,
who were my hosts for the evening. They honored Larry
Kudlow, the economist, and Peter Dolan,
the CEO of Bristol-Myers. Both men were honored for their
involvement with the rehabilitation center in Minnesota. Judy
Collins, also a major supporter of Hazelden,
performed. |
The
carolers and decor at Brooke and Peter's
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One
of the NYSD readers who saw JH’s picture of the fat squirrel perched
on the back of a park bench in Madison Square last week (see
right) wrote to say that growing up in Minnesota, he learned
that fat bears and fat squirrels usually meant hard winters.
On Friday the
snow started about ten in the morning. Early forecasts said it
would be big. I found that unbelievable — only a couple of
weeks ago we had record high temperatures, and winter storms in
early December have become rare in my lifetime. Although it happened
eight or nine years ago in 94 or 95.
But the onset of a heavy storm in the city is exciting for
many reasons. Everything, even a trip to the store, takes on gravity
of purpose. I had planned beforehand to go down to the flower market
on 28th Street to buy some poinsettias ($10 each — retail for
$35). Knowing I could do it by subway, I took the 79th Street crosstown
to Central Park West, transferred to the 8th Avenue subway; then
transferred again at 59th (and Columbus Circle) for the Broadway
line. All that for two bucks with the Metrocard. It took about an
hour because the bus took forty-five minutes for what is usually
a twenty-minute trip.
After I bought the plants (three, they deliver), I took the subway
back up to 79th and Broadway to get my weekend Zabars fix. Then the
snow was really coming down. Outside Zabars with two heavy bags,
I found a cab to take me back across the park. That trip, usually
ten minutes, took an hour and a half and cost me fifteen bucks.
Just as well because the buses were having a terrible time traveling
on the snowy icy streets. Crosstown buses these days are double-buses
with an accordion-like center. The two sections were often swerving
and sliding on the roads. One double bus got stuck on the crosstown
West 81st Street (between Columbus and Amsterdam) which connects
to the 79th Street transverse through the Park. They had to close
the block off because no cars could get by the vehicular behemoth. |
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Taking
in the snow on Sunday afternoon.
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I
had a young Tunisian cabdriver who had his “Off Duty” sign
on but took me because I was going in his direction. Immediately
stuck in gridlock on West 86th, I asked him about himself.
He was 33 and has been in this country for five years. He had
a degree in economics back home, and came here to go for his
masters or a CPA. He couldn’t decide which.
I asked him, as is my wont, and knowing that he was working in a
very stressful job, how he found this country. He said he liked it.
Although he was very surprised to learn that making one’s way
was harder than the image many foreigners have of America that they
glean from our movies and television. “You have to work really
hard,” he said, “just to pay your basic bills.”
He drives a cab six days a week, during the day. He tried the night “because
the money is better” but there were “too many drunks
and weirdos” for him. Nevertheless, he likes driving a cab
because “you’re your own boss” and you can work
when you want. He takes a month every summer and goes back home.
After five years of making his way here, he’s now positioned
to continue his education at a school out in Brooklyn.
I didn’t get around to asking him if he had a family to support
(here or there), although at his age it is quite conceivable. He
spoke English with an accent but very well, explaining that he is
by education trilingual – French being his second language
and English his third.
I asked him what he did with his (little) time off. He
said he liked to read — books about economics, computer science,
some histories, and the Koran. I asked him what Americans he admired.
He answered first: Abraham Lincoln. Then Malcolm
X. Then Martin Luther King. I ask him what
he thought of our President. Not much.
I asked him what he thought of our previous president, Clinton.
He said he believed they were all criminals. “Criminals?” I
inquired further.
He said he believed that anyone who was responsible for the death
of even one person was a criminal. “Those who flew the planes
into the World Trade Center were all criminals,” he added with
same passionate agitation in his voice.
I asked him what he would like to do if he could have anything he
wanted, if God (or Allah) came down and said: I’ll grant you
whatever you wish.
He laughed, titillated by what seemed a like novel thought to him,
a man struggling to get by. He said he wasn’t sure. Then he
said he didn’t know. I often pose that question to young people,
usually male (“what would you like to do if you could do anything
you wanted?”), especially cabdrivers because so many of them
are young and foreign and have come to this country to actualize
ambitions and dreams, or at least are looking to improve the quality
of their lives. I rarely get a specific answer.
When I ask a young American I often get one
of two answers: “to have a lot of money” and/or “to
be happy.” No good, I say; must be specific, adding
that there are times in life when a dream does come true.
Young women, it should be noted, are also usually not specific.
Taxi drivers very often get a bad rap in this city where impatience
can be running race with intolerance through nobody’s fault.
I remain in awe of those, like my own grandfathers who came to this
land, having little or nothing — and in one grandfather’s
case not even knowing the language — and make their way. We
frequently take for granted what is a feat, in and of itself, requiring
great courage and stamina.
So that was my cab ride in the snow. I got back to
my apartment just before dark (quarter to five). When I paid my fare,
my driver thanked me “for the lecture.” I laughed at
his description of my monologue riffing questions, and he laughed
too, leaving me to wonder many things.
It snowed here for two solid days, with a little break on Friday
midnight through early morning. It was still snowing Saturday night
at three in the morning. But amazingly, there wasn't great accumulation.
The poinsettias were delivered on Saturday morning and they make
a cheerful reminder (and a beautiful one) about this holiday time. |
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Friday,
the snowstorm begins
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