I have a lot of fond memories of New York. I was born in Connecticut, and when I would visit my grandmother and grand-aunt in Stratford, going to New York was always a treat. Later, when I was in university, I made several friends who lived in New York, and I would visit them often on my way to or from family visits in Connecticut.
My grand-aunt took me to a Yankees game once at old Yankee Stadium. I remember catching a foul ball, dropping it, and reaching down to get it, and the man in the seat in front of me was reaching under his seat, scratching my head in an effort to get me to release the ball. My grand-aunt bopped him over the head, and he stopped scratching me. There’s a picture somewhere of me holding up that ball.
I remember being at a store on Broadway and asking about a large Zippo lighter that said NYC on it. The man said it was $45. I then asked about the smaller one. He said it was $45. I then inquired about the larger one, again, and he said it was $60. That seemed like quintessential New York City to me.
I remember being in NYC for New Year’s Eve in 1998. I was amazed to see all the people in Times Square waiting in the freezing cold for the ball to drop. Even more amazing was how fast the cops cleared the street at 12:02. Five minutes into the new year, the only evidence of the number of people who were out there was the massive amount of confetti in the streets.
I remember almost dying in a bodega in the Bronx. I remember tying a bowtie for what I am convinced was a mobster from Sicily. I have fond memories of Brooklyn and visiting my great-grandmother before she passed.
New York may be the city of dreams, but it is the city of memories for me.