A Wet Time in the Big City!

By Charlotte Hill O=Neal

            I hadn=t been in New York since 1990 and I knew that things would have changed.

            As we drove from the airport with Mr. Tom at the wheel giving me a personal tour of the city and my Pisces Sister, Sandra Dickinson (a Professor at LaGuardia Community College and a summer months volunteer at UAACC for the last three years) squeezed between all my luggage in the back seat (I=ve never learned to travel light, but I DO sometimes leave the kitchen sink at homeYsometimes!), I was amazed at how familiar everything seemed.  There were still young couples walking hand and hand down the street in Harlem; honking horns and scurrying crowds of people still added to the excitement of being on 125^th Street, one of THE famous thoroughfares in America; the Apollo Theater still advertised the top talents and stars in entertainment and I still salivate a bit to remember the hints of spicy food smells as we passed by numerous eateries and open air food stands.

                        So what was so different?  President Clinton now had his private work place in a Harlem office building; there were quite a few young looking people walking around with one leg and one crutch apparently because of the epidemic of diabetes and obesity in many of the communities there; and of course, in the light of Sept. 11, the level of security in public buildings and even on the streets, was much more apparent than in 1990. 

Honking horns and scurrying crowds of people still added to the excitement of being on 125th Street, one of the famous thoroughfares in America.

                       One of my first visits was to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of the world=s most famous repositories of over 5,000 years of art collected from around the world and we had to go through metal detectors under the watching eyes of the museum attendants.  What delight I felt to be able to look at famous art work that I had only seen in books for years.  I was surprised at the emotions that I felt when tears actually stung my eyes as I strolled through the hushed halls soaking in all the Picassos; Bearden=s; Monet=s; Chagall=sYthe list goes on and on as did my astonishment at actually having the opportunity to view so many famous works live and direct.

                        I was staying with my Pisces sister in Manhattan and enjoyed the cab rides and our brisk walks to the quaint Italian restaurants in her neighborhood. I definitely did not look forward, at all, to riding in the underground warrens that make up the arteries of the unbelievably vast and efficient subway system in New York seeing that I=m still a bit claustrophobic, even after years of self therapy to rid myself completely of that condition.

            We walked through roaring, near hurricane level winds and rain which turned our umbrellas completely inside out and roughly pushed us on our way to the Apollo Theater on the night my niece was due to perform in the weekly talent show.  My sister Sharon and several of her in-laws had come up from Kansas City to attend the event.  The lines of people waiting to get in were unbelievably long, snaking around the block as far as I could see in that dark night.  How in the heck would we find the Kansas City folks in all that rain and crowd of people? 

            We were soaking wet by the time we finally found them.  My eyeliner was running; my head tie was dripping and steam was coming off our backs as we entered the Apollo.  All the discomfort from the wet clothes dissolved though, as the thumping, bumping beats bounced off my brain.  Usually loud music bothers me, makes my heart feel like it=s ailing and missing its healthy rhythm, but after a few seconds I got into it and was bouncing and bobbing and pumping my fist into the air, grinning from ear to ear like everybody else in the audience!  My goodnessYwe were at the Apollo!  AND we had good seats, right in front of the stage.  The TV cameras scanned the crowd, swiveling above our heads as we laughed at the jokes of Monique, the television star serving as the MC.  We got a first hand look at what happens when the TV cameras are turned off during the commercials breaks.  The stage crew moved in fast, one bringing out an electric fan during each break to blow cooling air on Monique; another dabbing and repairing her sweating makeup, another massaging her shoulders and smoothing her hair while she complained about the stiletto heels she was wearing and cracked ribald jokes into the microphone that made me blush with embarrassment. 

                        As we tried to flag down the lines of taxis in the rain after the show, I felt like I was an actor in one of those movies where the cab drivers never stop for black people at night in the city, just because they=re black.  Time was flying and we decided to just take the doggone subway again.  It felt kind of strange to see thin, white men stretched out zombie-like, on the steps leading down into the subwayYwaving their arms wildly, dribbling and mumbling to themselves in the throes of drunken, drugged out stupors. This was a far cry from the images on television and in slick magazines that you usually see of white folks in American citiesYwhere the streets used to be paved with (figurative) gold.

              I tried and tried to swipe the subway card through the slot that would allow me to go through the revolving metal barrier, but I just couldn=t get the rhythm going to do it.  I heard grumpy comments from the people waiting behind me.  I was holding up the line, it was late and cold and rainy and this was definitely not the time to be practicing my swiping skills. I handed the card to my friend to swipe for me. 

            I=d have to get used to big city ways quickly if I were to survive my week long stay in New York.

For more information about UAACC go to www.uaacc.habari.co.tz

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