That’s the glory of the New York story
New York, New York — you once were a helluva town.
Now? The Bronx stays up all night and the Battery’s running down.
In 1860, weeks before I came to be: A Gilded Age. Growth, industrialization, society. Rice — 7 cents a pound. Coffee? 21 cents. To scrub a shmatta cost the scrubee 11 cents. Soap? 8 cents. And walking? No nighttime terror. We’re talking it was heavy-duty hardship.
Our mayor then? Fernando Wood whom nobody remembers except maybe Mrs. Wood. Also maybe if their marital loins produced any Wood splinters. NYC population then? Give or take a drugstore then — 800,000. Immigrants from Europe. Begun were small ethnic pockets — Little Italy, Lower East Side, Chinatown.
Back then: No subway. No glassy apartment buildings. No rotary dial, no Uber, no phone, no unemployment, small taxes. No double-parked cars. I mean, please. Not even single ones parked anywhere. And no rumble seat for an extra behind until 1920.
But now — a century later — spitting — then forbidden — now a daily sport. Especially on the street in front of a marijuana shop or sex store teaching you How To Do It if you never before did it. Kids who flunk math get an A in spitting.
One interviewee said we’ve lost Quality of Life. Like worrying about a shiv in your back. Taking the train? Worrying about a shiv in your front. Hailing a cab? To grab one you’re run over by a bicycle. Previously arrested criminals next have to really run for office.
There’s temporarily no wars in Afghanistan, Vietnam, Iraq — so, come here to serve your country? No.
If in trouble, hide behind the immovable garbage truck. Or in between the racks of city bicycles. Or under the unlimited scaffolding. Or relocate to Montreal where it’s always possible Eric Adams has an emergency tailor.
Or go flush out the temporarily hiding migrants. Some are still in Guantanamo. Only 75% of the border can be controlled. Can’t flaunt expensive purses so they’re now exchanged for plastic shmatta bags that previously transported oranges and potatoes.
Once the greatest effing city on the planet, it’s now noisy, filthy, congested, expensive, unaffordable, polluted. Noisy, seemingly ungovernable, impassable, lacking in housing, hospitality, crime way up, safety way down. Need a hospital bed? Try maybe Iowa. Ward space is available because who?thehell knows how to get there.
Reaching Fifth Avenue? Forget it. Traffic on gridlocked Fifth has a sign that says: No stopping, no standing, no parking, no kidding. Fifth Avenue! Where you’d like to stop — but can’t.
New York. The Plaza won’t let you in the steam room without a tie and jacket. If the Waldorf barbershop ever reopens, they won’t admit you unless you first take a colonoscopy — and pass! Also, room service has an unlisted number.
But civilization has to know we’re the tops. New York City. The biggest, best, classiest, smartest, the A-1 of takers, grifters, robbers, thinkers, creators, actors. Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick live here. Tom Hanks has a place here. Robert De Niro — here. Alec Baldwin, Jerry Seinfeld, Taylor Swift, Donald Trump, Denzel Washington, Al Pacino, Gigi Hadid, Mariah Carey, Madonna, Hugh Jackman, Peter Dinklage, Martin Scorsese, Anne Hathaway, Julianne Moore, Cyndi Lauper, Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, Carolina Herrera, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Steven Spielberg and — importantly — P. Diddy, all here.
So if you’re hunting a song about Arizona — lotsa luck. It’s only in New York, kids, only in New York.