(Originally
published 11/13/16)
Growing up
in the Northwest Bronx today bears little resemblance to its 1960s and 1970s
forebear. The very same sentiment could be applied to growing up anywhere, I
suppose. That’s because we now live in an ever-evolving Information Age. In
fact, a case could be made that it’s a Too Much Information Age. The signs of
the times are everywhere and impossible to miss.
When I was
a boy, one and all would “go into the city.” It’s the phrase that was regularly applied
to our Bronx to Manhattan sojourns. Despite the Bronx being a borough of New
York City—and a pretty famous one at that—the expression was both used and
understood by everybody. One would “go into the city to see a play”
or “go into the city to Christmas shop.” Here, at least, is something that has
stood the test of time. Bronx residents still “go into the city” and many of
them take the Number 1 subway train—the Broadway-Seventh Avenue local, which
cuts a neat swath through the West Side of Manhattan, the most recognizable slice of the city.
I ventured
“into the city” on the Number 1 train last weekend. Fittingly, I began my
journey
at the beginning, the Van Cortlandt Park station, where I spied a
sign—for the very first time—that informed me that pride in the subway line was
back. Funny, but I never knew it existed in the first place. Still, I was happy
it was back. In the 1970s and 1980s, subway trains were covered in graffiti and
grime, including the Number 1 fleet. Nevertheless, I suspect the “Pride Is
Back” is a contemporary brander’s brainchild—an advertising concern that
couldn’t tell you what exactly happened to the former pride, why it existed in
the first place, and—the burning question of the moment—why it’s back now.
In the
city itself, more
signs of the times were seen, including one at the entrance
of a little park in lower Manhattan. It’s the first time I have ever been
apprised of how many light poles, movable chairs, and trees were within a
park’s boundaries. I only counted twenty-four movable chairs when the sign said
twenty-five. I could have lodged a complaint with New York’s complaint hotline,
311, but took the high road.
Downwind
from this park with three-dozen trees was a peculiar-looking building, the
handiwork no doubt of a Jenga fan and architect. This aesthetically unappealing
edifice was also blue—the icing on the unsightly cake. I fear, though, that its
design is something of a trend. While down by New York Harbor a short while
later, a skyscraper on the New Jersey side sported the same Lego look. And I
thought the pencil-thin, extremely tall buildings—which have been sprouting up
in New York's skyline of late—couldn’t be surpassed for heinousness, but I was
wrong. The signs of the times never cease to shock and awe.
(Photos
from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)
