In 1975 New York’s diminutive mayor asked the federal government to aid the city. Its coffers had been depleted by the fiscal short besetting every American metropolis after the 1973 Gas Crisis. President Ford refused any assistance and the NY Daily News infamously shamed Washington with the headline FORD TO CITY: DROP DEAD. The city survived the threat of insolvency, while realizing New York existed in its own world birthing that adage ‘once you leave New York, you’re going nowhere’.
Having lived in Paris, London, Los Angeles, Bali, Bangkok, Pattaya, and Palm Beach I recognize that other places have their special charms, but New York is New York and that New York is Manhattan. The Outer Boroughs and Tri-State Area are snubbed as the hinterland. The farther you get from Herald Square the more you are getting closer to the Ultimate Thule or ultra-nowhere and this evening I received a phone call from my good friend, AC. The Englishman lives on a creek serpentining through the Dutchess County farmland.
“I have a p-p-p-phenomena to report.” His house is surrounded by the homes of farm workers. His daily conversations are limited to his loving wife and cherished daughter. He’s much older than either, but then I am decades older than Fenway’s mom.
“What?” Living in the woods requires a lot of staring at the stars. I expected a report about UFOs.
“It’s about n-n-numbers.” AC had a slight stutter. I suffered the same affliction. Our friends mocked our dialogues to our faces. We were good humored about our shared speech impediment.
“Numbers?” I’ve had several friends go crazy and each time they mumbled about the weirdness of numbers.
“Yes, it’s how everyone’s age added to the year of their birth equals 111.”
“Huh.” I did some fast addition. AC was right for me, my brothers, sisters, Richie Boy, my landlord, but not his daughter or my son or daughter and my mention of their omission to the phenomena caught AC off-guard.
“I’ll have to l-l-look into it.”
“You do that.” It had obviously been a long winter in the hills and I promised to visit this weekend. Dutchess County can welcome the Spring with open arms. Manhattan for all its hip glory can never rival Nature, except with cut roses and those beauties rarely last longer than three days.