I probabaly spent some time on the Saturday clearing up the W77th Street apartment and preparing to leave.
I also sense, from the photos, that I took another long walk at some point quite early in the day:
New York was well thawing by the SaturdayDeep and crisp and fairly unevenStill photogenic, though
I am prety sure I went on a bit of a shopping spree downtown that day too. I had been told about post-Thanksgiving sales and but was also was keen to buy some second hand records of the kind I might not find in England so easily.
I did buy some second hand records, although I recall thinking that the selction in Notting Hill Gate beat anything I could find in New York in most departments.
I do recall buying a copy of Mish Mosh by Mickey Katz and his Kosher Jammers for my dad, who was a bit of a fan. I have inherited that record back since, so have it in my collection now. Below is a sample some other fan has kindly uploaded to YouTube:
But Mickey Katz and his Kosher Jammers was not the soundtrack of my visit to New York in late 1989…
…no no no. The song that was absolutely stuck in my head, playing regularly while I was in New York, was Pump Up The Jam by Technotronic:
I bought a copy of that single while I was in New York and recall talking to my half-Belgian friend/colleague Daniel Scordel about the record soon after my return to London. I described it as a quintessentially New York sound, to which Daniel replied:
Actually I think that group is Belgian. Actually that’s a quintessentially “Europeans trying to sound like New York” sound.
Still a good record and still quintessentially MY visit to New York.
I think the dinner with Becca Simmons might have been that Saturday evening, but perhaps I had dinner with her before Thanksgiving weekend. She might remember.
Alternatively, this might have been the evening that I attempted to follow American football in a bar/diner, based on Bob Blake’s tutorial earlier in my stay, discovering that I hadn’t really taken much in from Bob’s instruction.
When I woke up on Thanksgiving morning, there was a thick coat of snow over New York. At the time, I had no idea how rare an event this was – I only found out 30 years later, while writing up this event, that 1989 was the first “proper” white Thanksgiving (i.e. more than just a flurry of snow) for over 50 years and that it hasn’t happened since.
So I didn’t think, “freak weather”, I merely thought, “photo opportunity before I head off to Westchester County”. So I went for a long walk around Central Park and beyond. Lots of pictures, just a few are shown below to illustrate:
I had been warned that the East Coast can be chilly at that time of year, so I would have taken warm clothes, but I’m sure I didn’t anticipate snow so my walk for sure would have been shod in quite basic sneakers. But I suppose 5 inches of virgin snow on a quiet morning is not so dangerous.
On the matter of danger, I do recall that the Barst family were concerned about me taking the train from Grand Central Station up to Westchester County to join them for a traditional Thanksgiving family gathering. At that time, they considered Grand Central to be a dangerous place, populated by hoodlums, hustlers, halfway housers and the like. They warned me to walk with purpose and only ask directions of a uniformed offical.
Bravely, I stopped to take this picture near Grand Central Station
In truth, it felt little different from Notting Hill to me, but I suppose, back then, Notting Hill was also considered a bit edgy. The mean streets of Notting Hill…the mean streets of Manhatten…
Anyway, the journey was incident and travel problem free, despite the unseasonal weather…
…hard to imagine an absence of travel disruption in similar “overnight snow before a public holiday” circumstances in the UK.
When I got to Frank and Maurie’s place, I was welcomed into the warmth of a traditional family Thanksgiving.
Patriarch Norman (left) – with daughter “hostess with the mostess” Maurie (right)Fran (left) plus Hal (right)Hal (left), Bob (centre) and Jen (right). The knees (front left) are unidentified.“Mummy” Cynthia with SuziHal and Joanie, who lived near me in London for a while during my early time in ClanricardeFamily and cake taking centre stage at this point in the proceedings
I especially remember Norman’s fascination with my accent – he took me around to speak with everyone (which was a good way to meet the whole clan) and kept asking me to speak just so that people could hear my…
…incredible English accent. Did you hear that? Listen to that accent! Say that again, Ian…please say that again…
I also remember Norman’s fascination with Frank and Maurie’s house, because it was a 19th century dwelling.
Just think, Ian, your Queen Victoria was on the throne when this house was built…
…to which Joanie said, with feeling…
Oh, Daddy, that’s not going to impress Ian – he lives in a Victorian house too – everybody in London does…
…well, not quite everyone, Joanie. But you did…and so do I!
It was a wonderful experience for me to join a proper family Thanksgiving during my short stay in the USA that time. A happy accident of timing combined with a generious invitation.
It was a very warm and cosy family gathering, just as I had imagined family gatherings at Thanksgiving to be.
I remember telling Grandma Jenny (Norman’s cousin) all about it when I got home; she wanted me to spare her no small detail about that aspect of my trip. By that time she was pretty much blind, so I couldn’t really show her the photos, although I did talk her through them all, in meticulous detail.
Ever since, of course, I have been dreaming of a white Thanksgving, just like the one and only Thanksgiving I used to know…
…little knowing, until just now, that such weather in that part of the world at that time of year is so very, very rare indeed.
Unusually, indeed uniquely, I did not keep a log of this holiday to the USA. So my memory thirty years on will have to suffice, supported only by 100 or so photos and some planning scribbles in my diary.
The Planning
My purpose and plans were fluid to say the least when I arranged the trip, but I had contacted my distant cousin, Fran Barst Blake, who had arranged through some extraordinarily kind friends, Dana & Mark Wegman, for me to borrow their pied-a-terre on W70th Street for a week.
Fran absolutely insisted that I should join the Barst family for Thanksgiving, which was to take place at her sister Maurie’s place in upstate New York.
My only other plans were to try and see Philadelphia and Washington DC before ending up in Boston where I could see Pady Jalali.
I managed to find a suitable “dog leg” flight arrangement for those loose plans, flying to JFK but returning from Boston Logan, by booking with Aer Lingus and flying in via Shannon.
When I told Michael Mainelli (whom I had known for less than a year by then) that I was going to the USA for the above loosly-arranged fortnight …
…Michael reeled off a small collection of names, locations and telephone numbers, suggesting that any of his old friends (mostly from Harvard) would welcome me if I simply dropped his name and said that he had provided me with their details.
Many of those friends most certainly did welcome me. Most…possibly even all of them, are still even talking to Michael despite the intrusion!
The requirement to stop off at Shannon on the way to JFK seemed, when I booked the journey, to be “part of the price”, but in fact it proved to be advantageous. While Aer Lingus processed the Irish contingent onto our flight, those of us who started in London were processed through US immigration at Shannon, which enabled us to avoid the circus that is immigration at JFK.
While massive queues of people awaited immigration at JFK (this was just a few days before Thanksgiving, remember), we were stewarded past the queues with cries of “Aer Lingus passengers from Shannon this way”…
…past the queues, through customs and away quickly.
I think I met Fran and Bob at their place and then we all went to the W70th apartment so kindly donated to me by the Wegman couple whom I never met (nor did I even speak with them as far as I recall). Between Broadway and Columbus it was – a wonderfully located apartment. Near Central Park.
I walked in Central Park several times during my stay.
The apartment was about the size of the main part of my Clanricarde Gardens pad, perhaps a bit smaller, but without “The Ivory Tower”.
The most memorable feature of the apartment was the large water bed that dominated the bedroom. That took some getting used to; especially getting in, out or moving around on it.
My First Few Days
The absence of a travel journal is infuriating me, as I am so used to being able to reconstruct my memories from a heap of words as well as pictures. I remember lots of things I did during those first few days but not really the sequence in which I did them.
I recall sitting in Fran and Bob’s East Village apartment quite early in the visit, enjoying a meal together and Bob explaining American Football to me, as there was a game on the TV. I remember thinking that the game made sense to me when Bob explained it to me…
…but a few days later I remember trying to watch a game on my own in a bar and it seemed impenetrable again – all set pieces, no flow and just a string of jargon spewing forth from the commentators. Those Americans should learn a lesson or two from cricket. But I digress.
I placed a couple of calls to Michael Mainelli’s New York based friends and very soon had two evening arrangements set; the first with Jane Lewis, the second with Rebecca Simmons. Two very different nights out; both very enjoyable in their own way. I particularly remember one dinner being Louisiana style food in a restaurant located in Alphabet City, which was an edgy but up & coming area at that time, I think that one was with Jane. I remember a good Chinese meal too – I think on the Upper West Side and I think that one was with Rebecca.
I cannot remember exactly which evenings those nights out took place. Possibly they were before Thanksgiving but perhaps afterwards; the weekend now known as cyber whatsit. I do recall that the plans were laid very soon after I arrived in New York and that there ought to be scraps of paper somewhere in my collection of rough note pads with clues, unless the rough notes I made once I got to the USA never made it back to the UK.
I also discovered that Rita Frank’s daughter, Mara, really was a willing volunteer to act as my informal tour guide around New York and she proved to be a true friend by showing me around New York and offering me advice on what to do (and not to do) in a way that only a young local could. For sure that touring took place before Thanksgiving.
I cannot recall which of my touring elements I undertook with Mara and which without her. I have a feeling she showed me around the Fianancial District and South Street Seaport…
…but ducked out of taking the Staten Island Ferry with me, I think because she had a late afternoon or early evening arrangement, or perhaps she just didn’t fancy that element of the tour.
Not like me either, to want to take a boat on a cold, blowy late afternoon.
I do remember that Mara and I also went together to midtown and then back to the Upper West Side via Zabars on a different day…
…I also recall buying some goodies in Zabar as gifts and thank yous for people, including Mara, but then Mara insisted on reciprocating the gift with some Godiva chocolates, which was ever so kind of her – beyond generous, given her student status.
I did manage to reciprocate properly in the end by taking Mara to the Lincoln Centre after Thanksgiving – I’ll write that up separately.
It was my intention also to reciprocate when Mara came to London the following year, but by the time she arrived I was virtually bed-bound with my catastrophic prolapsed back, so Mara ended up being one of several kindly people who proved to be a truly good friend and helped me through that difficult period.
…so I can only hope that looking after me in New York (1989) and London (1990/91) was useful training for Mara’s eventual career looking after needy infants.
Necheth Windes Blast & Weder Strong
I think there was a thwarted plan for Mara and I to see preparations for the Macy’s parade, which I seem to recall started from very near Rita & Mara’s apartment on the Upper West Side. But there was some doubt about the the plans due to the unseasonably poor weather forecast for Thanksgiving Eve and indeed for Thanksgiving itself, as I shall report in the next piece.
So I think Mara went off early afternoon that Wednesday and we didn’t meet again until the Friday.
Instead, I thought I’d wander around downtown on my own, taking in Chinatown, Little Italy etc. I thought it would be interesting to see the New York County Courthouse in action and wandered in.
The receptionist insisted that it was not a good day (the eve of thanksgiving) as only a couple of trials were sitting and they were both rather ordinary multiple homicides – nothing truly grizzly for me to get my teeth into.
No amount of Me trying to assure this official that I was not keen on grizzly and was interested in seeing a court only because I had studied comparative law for a while and wanted to see it in practice…
…could convince the fellow that I wouldn’t be disappointed by the relative lack of gore.
Actually I was quite shocked that a gangland shooting trial with a couple of defendants and (if I recall correctly) more than one homicide, attracted no press and just one weeping, praying woman (I guessed the mother of one of the defendants) in the public gallery.
It really was becoming painfully cold, so I took refuge in a bar. I’m not sure why, but I think it was called Vortex. I discovered afterwards that the bar, whatever it was called, was primarily known as a gay pick up joint. I did have previous in this department, the year before, Mr Magoo-like, in what is now my local pub, The Champion, when I was flat-hunting.
I do recall a jocular, rotund fellow sort-of chatting me up in that New York bar…he told me that he wrote quiz books about the movies and that he was known as Mr Personality to his friends…
…I recall thinking that anyone who IS Mr Personality would NOT self-describe as Mr Personality…
…in any case, once he realised that I was a disoriented tourist and not a potential pull, he introduced me to some of the other regulars in the bar and we all chatted in a friendly manner for some while.
I’m not sure I realised quite how much the weather was closing in, nor how very unusual it was to have this kind of weather in New York for Thanksgiving.
But in any case, by the Wednesday, I sure was ready for an early night and that’s what I did.
The first roll of film from the trip, which roughly equates to the events shown in this piece, can be seen by clicking the Flickr link below:
