John Shearer: Getting Reacquainted With New York City After 13 Years, Part 1

When my wife, Laura, and I were thinking about a trip for our 30^th anniversary last August, we agreed on New York, in part because she knew I always enjoyed going there and she did not mind an occasional visit.

I had enjoyed visiting the Big Apple probably 10 or 12 times from 1985-92 when former Chattanooga Free Press colleague Steven Epley was getting a doctorate at Columbia University. I eventually became familiar traveling throughout town and a little outside of it on my own. As a single person, I loved it and the feeling of independence of being in a bustling city on my own!

After Laura and I got married, we enjoyed one nice trip up there, and then we went two or three times together while her son lived there, including later when he had a growing family. Of course, parts of those trips involved a little babysitting, which my wife enjoyed.

So, this time we went up there with no one particularly to visit. With a busy fall, and of course important football games to watch for me, we finally decided on a long weekend before Thanksgiving. But it turned out great because the city was already gearing up for the Christmas and New Year season.

Being a sports fan, as mentioned, I picked that weekend partially because I saw that Columbia had an Ivy League home football game then, and I had enjoyed going to some Columbia games years ago. But I was still not completely sure how I was going to get to the game on the northern tip of Manhattan logistically and possibly leave Laura to fend for herself for a few hours. But I knew I could eventually figure my plans out.

So, on the early morning of Nov. 22 – and I do mean early! – we arose and took an Uber ride to the airport. I think we got up at 4 a.m. or so to catch the 7 a.m. Delta flight as part of the new non-stop service from Chattanooga to New York’s LaGuardia airport.

The Uber driver shared that he was a preacher and had another job and then worked as an Uber driver until he got sleepy, which was hopefully not in mid-trip with us. While friendly to us, we actually learned a lot of this information through his constant conversation with another driver on the phone. But if that kept him awake, that was fine, despite my enjoyment with at least conversing in person with someone like that briefly.

After being let off at the airport and getting our bags checked, which took maybe 15 minutes, since there was some kind of slowdown with one of the family of passengers ahead of us, we then went through security. That took maybe only another five minutes with my REAL ID and recently purchased Known Travel Number.

We were then on our way to the Chattanooga airport restaurant, where I enjoyed an egg, cheese and sausage biscuit. It was pretty good, making me realize airport food maybe everywhere has been upgraded. The only disappointing part was that when the woman who waited on us was looking for us to bring our food after we had sat down, she said, “Where did they go. They were an ‘older’ couple.” At least the food was fresh and not old.

After waiting a few more minutes and realizing I did not recognize any other local flyers, we were aboard the plane and soon heading for New York. Although it was supposed to be raining slightly in New York, I could see the ground below during part of the flight. Because I have usually only flown once or twice a year at the most since I first flew from Chattanooga to Memphis when I was about 10, and this was actually my first time to fly in about 10 years, I still enjoy looking down at the vast American expanse. I also find comfort in realizing that some open space still exists among the also-numerous dots of homes and buildings.

Upon arrival at LaGuardia airport, we were able to get our bags OK – another fear in flying – and then decided to find a traditional New York taxicab rather than trying to get an Uber on our phone. As soon as we approached the area where we thought we could catch a cab, though, a man came up to us and asked if we were looking for a taxi.

After we said yes, he hurriedly took us through a door to the outdoor loading area and, with some other people standing nearby and apparently waiting on taxis, called a driver forward. It did not look like a yellow taxi, but before we knew it, we were inside while noticing an obvious sense of rushing by the driver and the person who walked us to the vehicle.

We were soon off, but with some kind of security official telling the driver that he had to keep moving rather than stop as he did, or something like that. What we soon realized was that this was actually some kind of limousine service, not an official taxi, and maybe the driver and the person who took us to the cab were operating perhaps a little out of the rules or requirements.

And we certainly hoped we were not being kidnapped for ransom. Actually, the man seemed very friendly and conversant, telling a little about his living in New York for a few years after coming from somewhere in Latin America. He also had extended family there, and he had evidently even adapted to the culture well, as he also was a fan of American football and told us about Notre Dame and Army playing at Yankee Stadium the next night. It was a game I might have enjoyed attending if I had known about it, although it would have been kind of a cold experience.

It was a pleasant journey of 30-plus minutes or so with just some light and friendly conversation, which is all I want in a taxi or Uber, although I don’t always get even that, based on the morning ride to the airport. The friendly conversation helped soften the fact that we had to pay $105 or so for the ride when he let us out at the Hilton Garden Inn on West 46^th Street between 5^th and 6^th avenues.

We realized that was probably a little high but let it slide, and we just chalked it up for experience to help us in the future when needing New York transportation. It seemed like when I would visit Steve back in the late 1980s and early 1990s, we would occasionally ride to or from the airport and it was more like $20 or $30.

Since the only direct flight from Chattanooga left early in the morning, we realized all the hotels had not yet gotten into coordination with the Scenic City and that our room would obviously not be ready around 10:30 or 11 a.m. when we arrived But the workers at the hotel with a small lobby were friendly and entered information into the computer that we were there and stored our bags in a small and locked room in the lobby among the other guests’ bags.

Luckily, it was not really raining outside when we arrived but was cold and with just a light mist in the air. We then went out to walk around and headed north in the direction of Rockefeller Center about four short blocks away. We then walked into the NBC building, and I thought about signing up for a tour, but realized that in contrast to 35 years ago when I just showed up and was given one with a fellow traveler, these tours had to be reserved online. And the next available one was a week or so away.

We also thought about eating at the famous Rainbow Room in the building but realized it might be too fancy – and expensive – for a traveler’s simple lunch. And this was not a special enough occasion as promoted, even though we were up for a few days of fun. So, we went back outside after a quick visit to the NBC gift shop and began looking for a place amid the cold and damp weather.

Not wanting to spend a whole lot of time looking amid the outside discomfort of the elements, we went to a Pret A Manger chain deli a block or so from Rockefeller Center and had a simple soup and sandwich type meal like you might get at a McAlister’s Deli. But it did seem fresh and we enjoyed it among the different types of people and ethnicities who came in and ate. Of course, that is a large part of what New York is all about – different types of people living near each other. It is one of the world’s great melting pots and observing it for me periodically is fun and enriching.

After adequately enjoying the simple meal and resting and catching our breath and trying to stay warm, we decided to walk about four blocks on the south side of our hotel and visit Bryant Park. I was not sure what to expect but was partly scouting out places that might have a little green grass and where I could take a jog during the next three mornings, since I knew the ideal place of Central Park was a little too far north.

But Bryant Park was mostly a large plaza area maybe 100 yards by 100 yards and which had all kinds of temporary booth-type buildings that sold items, perhaps for people getting an early start on their Christmas shopping. We went in one neat building with heaters and which was selling unique-looking hats and other winter coverings. Laura got a toboggan-type hat to help amid the cold.

I was not sure of the story of Bryant Park, but I later learned it was named for famous New York poet William Cullen Bryant, a statue of whom sits in the park. I also learned he was a newspaper editor, which helped me relate to him better.

That helps keep with the theme of that area, because adjacent to the park is the New York Public Library, a beautiful Beaux Arts-style building completed in 1911. After Laura and I had braved the cold and even used the architecturally pleasing Bryant Park outdoor restrooms – a nice public feature not found everywhere in New York – we went into library and looked at its simply gorgeous rooms and walls and ceilings. If I did not know any better, I would have thought I was in a king’s castle.

It has a famous reading room that I believe has been the scene of movie films and/or noted TV interviews, but it is actually closed off to the general public except for serious researchers apparently with reservations, so I could only peer at part of it from the outside hall. It is accessible up a long row of steep stairs that would humble anyone physically and even emotionally going up them.

After enjoying the surroundings, we walked back to our hotel around 2 or 3 – still before the check-in time – to see if they had any rooms available. The clerk said our particular room was not available, but he did fortunately have another room available. And guess what floor it was on – yes, the 13^th, which did not overly excite this superstitious person. Memories of writing stories a few years ago on the famous Winecoff Hotel fire of 1946 in Atlanta suddenly came to my mind.

Laura seemed to think we were originally going to be on the 16^th floor of this slender hotel that had only about 12 to 15 rooms on each floor.

We enjoyed finally being in a hotel room more than 10 hours after we had gotten out of bed in Chattanooga, and relaxed for a few moments. Within an hour or so, I decided to walk up to the Magnolia Bakery about a block south in the direction of our hotel from Rockefeller Center. We had spotted it earlier, and hey, it was time for a dessert, which we did not have at the deli.

There was a crowd there in seemingly two or three different lines, and I went up and asked someone, and in a manner not super friendly, a young man about 20 explained that I could pick up the pre-packaged items there but had to get in line for orders like cupcakes or their famous banana pudding. Those might not have been his exact words, but I think that was generally what he was implying.

So, I grabbed a slice of chocolate cake for me in a plastic container and then got in the other line to order a cupcake for Laura and some banana pudding for us to enjoy maybe that night. The cupcake looked probably a little fresher than my slice of cake, although I am sure they were all pretty fresh, but I took all that back to the hotel room and we enjoyed the desserts.

Within a couple of hours or so, we began getting excited to head out to see the Radio City Rockettes perform their Christmas Spectacular, even though we were still almost a week away from Thanksgiving. Because it was still a slight misty rain and we did not want to get stuck at a restaurant for a long time, we decided to go to a pizza place across West 46^th Street from our hotel.

It was one where there were several premade and pre-heated pizzas sitting on a counter, and you told the operator what you wanted, and he heated them briefly in the oven if you desired. A man obviously from another country ran the place and was taking orders at a rapid clip as one could expect in New York. Even the Chick-fil-A drive-through workers could probably learn something from him on how to be fast and efficient if not with friendly Southern and well-behaved charm.

We enjoyed our large pizza slices and soft drinks, although the pizza could have been heated in the oven just a little longer. Unfortunately, the facility with two or three tables for seating could have also been a little cleaner.

And while I am critiquing it, at least one of the patrons could have been a little more sober. Laura pointed out that a young man probably only about 25 appeared to be quietly intoxicated before heading out with some of his unfinished pizza slices still sitting there. I certainly hope he was OK.

Laura and I could not finish our extra slice, and after debating whether to leave it there for some hungry – or hungover -- person, decided just to throw it in the garbage can.

After going back into the hotel room to clean up briefly, we soon began the walk down to Radio City Music Hall amid the cold temperatures. We went through the security stations on the south side of the building and got our tickets on my phone to work, and then we happily went into the giant and interesting-looking art deco concert hall.

We were about 45 minutes or so early, but that gave us time to soak up the surroundings in a relaxed manner. I also got some water and learned from an usher that the show was 90 minutes long and there was no intermission.

As part of a promotion plan, some high school singers got to sing a carol or two as the show was getting ready to start, and a couple of deejays from a popular local station also started their all-Christmas music format for the next month or so live from the stage of the auditorium.

Then, a couple of organists on each side – a “double” feature not seen in most historic theaters – began playing and the show began. I did not know what really to expect, as I had of course seen the Rockettes stand in a line and kick up their legs to a dance number on TV and it had not overly excited me.

But as I had been tipped off by someone beforehand, the show was much more than that. They did all kinds of dance numbers, and mini-plays and skits, and were simply amazing. I was oohing and aahing the whole time. Their harmonious rhythm was fascinating in all their routines, their multiple costumes were colorful and attractive, and they even had a live nativity scene with some camels, sheep and donkeys marching across the stage. And in one routine called the Wooden Soldier Fall, they all very slowly fell backward in a manner that seemed to defy gravity or physics.

And yes, they did kick their legs up in the air a few times in another show of flexibility, and it seemed a lot more interesting in person. While some of these routines have been done for years, their presentations were enhanced by some high-tech lights that flashed across the stage and even ceiling of the theater.

I was mesmerized as we left and walked back through the cold night to the hotel and enjoyed our banana pudding. Yes, we were going bananas in the Big Apple, in part over our enjoyment of the show.

The next morning, I got up and took a jog around the block of our hotel just for 20 minutes or so. I normally like to jog on grass from years of habit to avoid shin splints and other harder pounding on my joints and legs, but there was unfortunately no significant grass within a 5- or 10-minute run of our hotel. I would love to have been closer to Central Park but, as mentioned, was not.

But it was not too bad just spending a few minutes outside in the cool and now drier weather trying to expand my lungs a little. And since it was about 6:30 to 7 on a Saturday morning when I got started, there was not much foot traffic on the sidewalks like there had been the day before or would be again in two or three hours.

While taking several laps around our block and hotel on sidewalks and through the nice and small open plaza area next to a bank might not been overly inspiring physically or even emotionally despite being in a bustling metropolis, my gastronomic senses were heightened. That was because I saw several potential places to eat.

And since it was getting to be breakfast time, I spotted a place called Fabrique Bakery on Sixth Avenue that seemed nice and better than the couple of other pastry shops that appeared to likely have bakery items brought in from somewhere else.

While this was evidently a chain with locations even in Sweden, it seemed to make gourmet breakfast items. I told Laura about it and after I showered and dressed, we walked down there and ate. In my continuous effort to enjoy something sweet and something savory, I got a sweet roll and a plain croissant, since they did not have ham and cheese croissants like I enjoy getting at Niedlov’s or Bread and Butter bakeries in Chattanooga.

Laura and I also got one of the sweet rolls and a coffee, and we sat there and enjoyed it while I sipped on milk and orange juice. I felt almost briefly like we were in Europe. I would have normally enjoyed a Coca-Cola but they did not offer soft drinks.

After that and with the help of the concierge person back at the hotel, we braved the cold to walk a short block or two to catch the subway up to the Cloisters art facility. Operated by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it showcases some valuable art pieces dating from the Medieval era to the early Renaissance.

They are housed in a Gothic-style complex that was constructed in 1938 in Fort Tryon Park on the northwestern tip of Manhattan. The building and scenic setting along the Hudson River almost remind one of a landmark building on an Ivy League college campus. It and the surrounding hill and glassed-in pavilions are as aesthetically pleasing to the eyes as is the treasured and historic art depicting topics from Biblical themes to ancient unicorns.

After getting up there via the more modern but less aesthetically pleasing subway and feeling like real New Yorkers by figuring out how to change trains at one stop, we arrived amid the very cold wind and dark skies.

We quickly went inside and looked around, and it was all beautiful, from the art pieces to the setting that also reminds one of a European abbey or monastery if the college setting feeling does not come to mind. After an hour or 90 minutes of looking around and a trip inside the gift shop, we realized the café where we were planning to eat after starting to get a little hungry was open only during the warm months of the year. And there did not seem to be that many eating places around the last subway stop.

While thinking about that, somehow a conversation with someone led them to believe we needed physical help due to Laura’s knee replacement surgery earlier in the year. So, the next thing I knew, we were getting escorted down a special hallway and taken via a van back to the bus stop after we had to catch a bus for the last half mile or so to the Cloisters. And the bus was there ready to leave when we arrived, so I did not get to take a nice and casual walk around the handsome complex as I was hoping to and had enjoyed in the one or two previous visits to the Cloisters. But it was probably too cold to totally enjoy that, anyway.

And regarding the football game I was planning to attend, it was to start at noon and was probably less than a mile or two from the Cloisters on the northern tip of Manhattan where Columbia’s historic Baker Field/Kraft Stadium is located. But, with Laura not being interested in going and me hating to leave her alone, I decided to not use my relatively inexpensive ticket I had purchased online a few days earlier.

I had been to a few Columbia games way back in the 1980s when visiting friend Steve Epley, and we had actually been there in 1988 when the Lions beat Princeton and player and future Cowboys coach Jason Garrett to break a multi-year losing streak and make national news.

It was not that big a deal for me to miss the game this time, but then after I got back to the hotel, I realized they had beaten Cornell in an exciting game to win or tie for the Ivy League title for the first time since 1961. Realizing I had missed another opportunity to witness an important piece of Columbia football history to go along with the 1988 experience was a little disappointing, but I guess that is life! But at least I can say I was within a mile or so of the stadium that day!

When Laura and I got back on the bus, we realized it did not automatically stop back by the subway stop without someone pulling the cord or punching a button on the bus. But we asked someone who got on the bus at the next stop, and he kindly told us we could get off four or five blocks later near the next subway stop farther south, and we did and were able to get back to near our hotel.

Instead of me getting to sit next to the light blue-adorned fans of Columbia, Laura wanted to check out some other garments, so we were planning to go to the Garment District a few blocks southwest of our hotel and Bryant Park.

After getting off at a subway stop just a little south of where we got on in the morning, we tried to check where we were and then found a Mexican grill-type place called Maiz. It was not too bad, and we were happy to eat, or at least I was after being hungry for an hour or so. I got a chicken burrito – they unfortunately did not have my favorite protein choice of ground beef – and it was somewhat similar to the Mexican grill chain places in Chattanooga. But they also – again unfortunately – did not have melted queso cheese to put in it.

After eating and after realizing Laura had briefly left her phone in the restroom, we began walking around, with Laura hoping to find what in Chattanooga might be referred to as fabric stores. She was just interested in checking out cloth materials in case she wanted to take one or two large pieces home to use to make a clothing item.

We did not see any initially after she had found some addresses online, but then we came upon a block or two where there were four or five. We then went in some of them. They were kind of drab looking but were completely filled with rolls of fabrics with only one or two rows to walk down. And all of them were operated by men appearing to be of Middle Eastern descent.

Despite the somewhat uninspiring look, Laura and I envisioned that they were frequented by fashion designers and others making clothes for important people, whether in the entertainment field or other areas.

After looking in a few, we saw a nearby coffee shop. Needing to go the bathroom, we asked the young man behind the counter if we could use it while ordering a coffee for Laura and an iced tea for me. In a seemingly grumpy manner, he said he had just cleaned it in anticipation of its 3 p.m. closing but finally let us use it.

A few other people were in the coffee shop when we arrived, but they left about the time we got our drinks and sat at a table. Within a minute or two, the young man, whose demeanor had not changed, came up and told us the place was now closed and that we had to leave. In the South, usually a 3 p.m. closing means you are OK and can stay a few minutes if you get there right before 3, but apparently not here. So, we quickly left but were thankful that we had gotten to at least use the restroom.

Ironically, the coffee shop had grumpy in its name, so maybe it was the antithesis of Chick-fil-A for friendly service.

We then slowly walked a few blocks back to our hotel and got ready for the next big event of our trip: a nighttime visit to the Empire State Building. I will highlight that along with visits to a Manhattan United Methodist Church, a popular family brunch restaurant, and the High Line greenway in part 2.

I will also discuss the places I or we wanted to go but did not as well as my overall impressions returning to big and fabulous New York City for the first time in 13 years.

* * *

Jcshearer2@comcast.net