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Cauldron of Cultures

Tue, 8 Jan 2008 21:30:19 -0500

New Years Eve. As my train barrels toward Manhattan under the East River, I take notice of the people sitting across from me. They are as follows: a large Caucasian man with a scruffy white beard, half asleep, seated next to an African American man keenly dressed for a swank New Years Eve party. He is accompanied by a young Asian girl in a bright red dress. Next to this couple are a Hispanic brother and sister laughing and teasing, followed by an African American man in his twenties sporting Rocawear, pink and baby blue sneakers, baggy black jeans, and Sony headphones through which his booming music exudes for all to hear. A gay couple is seated next to him in discussion about politics. One is Republican, the other Democratic and from what I gather, the New Years Eve party they’re headed for is going to be mostly Republicans, not to the liking of the later man. Standing in the door way are two blonde, petite, blue eyed German girls, one with an Indian boyfriend, the other a Caucasian Abercrombie-type. The four look dressed for the club scene. Finally, seated in silence next to the chortling couples sits a Caucasian woman in her forties, head leaning against the hand rails staring toward the ceiling, homeless, bags at her feet and an empty subway bench next to her as a result of her slum appearance and looming stench.

This was the landscape of my subway car on New Years Eve.

You think I made this up. The level of diversity I just described is far too cliche to be real. We all know New York City is diverse, but really, this diverse?

If there’s one thing I now glean from my experience in private Catholic high school, it’s this: I lived in a bubble of non-diversity. And if there’s one lesson (of many) I’m to share with you about my time in New York thus far, it’s this: New York City is abnormally diverse. And in no better place can this be seen than on the subway. But before seeing how the subway affects the city’s diverse nature, let’s look above ground.

Politically, New York City is viewed as a liberal city, but in the 2004 presidential election, NYC’s Upper East Side (zip code 10021) generated the highest campaign contributions for both the democratic and republican campaigns, respectively. In the most upper echelon of American society - campaign financiers - NYC’s diversity is undeniable.

Manhattan’s Harlem and the Lower East Side; Queen’s Flushing and Astoria; Brooklyn’s Borough Park and Flatbush; the Bronx’s Riverdale and South Bronx. Every neighborhood in every borough is home to a different group of people. More Jews live in Queens than in Israel, Harlem is the epicenter for Afro-Cuban Jazz, and Williamsburg, Brooklyn is becoming the epicenter of America’s cutting edge artistic scene, while the Bronx is home to some of the roughest projects in the nation and America’s favorite team of over paid athletes, the Yankees.

The city’s cultural diversity is both beautiful and miraculous in its ability to successfully function. What makes it all work? The subway, where individuals from every background, from all over the city come together in a common effort of reaching their destinations. Living in New York is constantly stimulating, forcing its inhabitants to always reassess their place in society and re-evaluate perceived notions about people and cultures. At the end of the day, rich and poor, Asian, European, Hispanic, Jewish, African etc... load onto the subway and slink back to their neighborhoods for the comfort of native foods and people. They re-emerge the next morning prepared for a dance of subway mingling once again.

Straphangers interact with people of foreign faiths, languages and politics in immensely intimate ways. The subway was conceived at the turn of the 20th century to move a burgeoning New York population swiftly and effectively, but its’ designers failed to realize the most beautiful part of their work. They inadvertently created a melting pot where New Yorkers must routinely churn themselves in a caldron of ever-changing diversity-stew.

On New Years Eve as I headed off in one direction and fellow straphangers headed in another, only a few feet separated me from many vastly different people, with vastly different backgrounds, each experiencing vastly different things in their lives at that moment.

I feel indelibly lucky to be in that position every day. You should come see it for yourself, and bring your own flavor to the melting pot.

Towards a Better Blog

Sun, 23 Dec 2007 00:16:58 -0500

Things have been quiet here lately. For those who’ve continued to check in with me, I really appreciate it. I assure you that more posts are on their way, so please stay tuned. I’m headed on vacation for a few days, but you should see a new post before the New Year.

As we move through Winter and into Spring I hope to move forward with my blog in a few ways. A few of my goals: A post at least every two weeks, ideally every week. I want to spread knowledge about my blog across the web, thereby increasing my readership. Most important, I want to get to know my audience. The reason I write this blog isn’t for my own release. Sure, I enjoy writing and the challenge of putting my experiences into words, but mostly I enjoy knowing that you’re out there reading this, and hopefully thinking about the topics. So, share your thoughts.

Use the Comments section of this post to tell me what you think of the blog. I welcome not only your positive feedback, but your criticism too. Let me know your thoughts on content, the interface, accessibility, etc. Any thoughts you have about “A Straphanger Emerges” are welcome and greatly desired.

For those who’ve been with me thus far, thanks. Continue reading, commenting and spreading the word. For those of you who just found my blog, welcome.

“A Straphanger Emerges” is only getting started. There’s much more to come.

To all, have a happy holiday and you’ll hear from me soon.

- Nathan

Growing Up

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 17:26:43 -0500

I rode my bike to and from school as a young boy in Southern suburbia. There was a big hill I’d race down just as I neared home, my legs burning to match the speed of the pedals. I recently heard a speech in which the presenter outlined each year of his life with a single image from his past. For me, second grade is marked by those bike rides home from school. I would stop at the top of the hill to prepare for the daunting plummet before me. Feet to the pedals, standing above my seat, the wind would begin to blow as I let the bike carry me downward - youthful freedom. The bike ride plummet is how I’ll always remember the second grade.

A boy is staring out the window of my subway car towards the gleaming city before him. Early morning sun reflects off skyscrapers like a growing wild fire as whispering fog lifts into the sky. Amongst the other commuters the boy is silent, but his eyes are far from quiet. They are lit with wonder. He’s mesmerized, his gaze captured by the city as it comes to life. He’s unaware of the crowded commuters that tower over him. “What’s that building,” he blurts out to his mother. “The Empire State Building,” she quietly responds. Glistening skyscrapers, rising fog, and sun from the East inhabit his tunnel vision, leaving him oblivious to the commuters around him. I got to see his second grade memory.

City kids live a very different life than the rest of America. Commuting on a subway seems abnormal to most, but it’s innate to children of New York City. While many walk to and from school, a large number rely on the subway for transportation each day. Student Metro Cards are provided by the city so the cost of commuting via public transportation stays at a minimum.

Tourists are confused by the mess of trains, but City kids are born into New York’s subway fabric. Transplants (like myself) come here and make a point to blend in so as to not appear lost or confused. City kids will never experience this sense of uncertainty - the subway is part of their lives. Often I’ll be sitting quietly on the train when the doors open and in walks a boisterous group of kids fresh out of school. The subway is their school bus, and the public is a witness to their ‘bus-talk’ - ranting about teachers, and teasing fellow classmates.

I look at subway kids with awe. They play video games, doodle in coloring books and sleep, always unaware of their surroundings. Parents watch for the needed train stop or transfer, while kids are absorbed in their own world of thought or play. I wonder what they think of all the people, noise and smells that inhabit the subway. Then I remember and concede that subway life is their ‘normal life.’

What does the subway do to these kids? They seem weathered and past their age when seen riding the subway alone. Shouldn’t they be nervous or scared? But no, this is the norm. I rode my bike, they take the subway.

My childhood was different in many ways, but the result of both worlds is intriguingly similar. I’m not qualified to analyze the psychological differences between city kids and suburban kids, but on a human level the end result is the same. Each produces intelligent, kind-hearted individuals. Suburbia carts its’ kids around in closed off cars and dedicated school buses, while New York sets them loose on the subway - very different experiences, but on a human level, identical outcomes.

What I find most intriguing about the various worlds from which we come are those small things that make us different - our memories. We all grow up, move away and make our own lives. And as we do so, we bring experiences with us that create unique relationships and friendships. Our differences give us something to explore.

My upbringing was very different from my city friends, but it’s those differences which allow us to relate. I recount racing my bike down that hill as a child, while others recount early memories of seeing the glistening skyline out the window of their subway car. Our unique memories allow us to compare our pasts, then imagine what it would have been like to live in the other’s shoes.

Subway or bike, the differences are welcome.

Too Much Noise

Tue, 6 Nov 2007 00:15:45 -0500

I watched a girl wince at the noise of our train. We were moving quickly, the subway jarring our bodies. It's rather amusing to watch people bounce around on the subway, but no one enjoys the noise - it’s painful.

As the train sped up the young lady covered her ears. The faster we went, the harder she pressed. Then, her back began to arch and her head moved to a fetal position. Neighboring straphangers began to worry - was she hurt, pregnant? But I'd watched the whole thing, I knew it was the noise.

The train made a jarring bump and she jolted up like she'd been shocked. Her eyes were tightly closed - it seemed frightening, torturous even. As we slowed she began to relax her eye lids, then eased the pressure from her ears. She breathed. Other passengers took in their own sigh of relief when she relaxed. The train stopped, she opened her eyes as though nothing had happened, the doors opened, and she left.

My subway line has several types of trains. There are the oldest trains with long benches, marked by a stark grey hue, with little protection against rumbling subway noise (the type featured in the story above). Next, slightly newer trains from the mid 80's are orange with individual seats. These trains guard against noise better than the grey ones, but a subway ride on these behemoths is far from enjoyable. Finally, there are new trains. Technologically advanced, blue in hue and smooth at high speeds, these trains make the noise tolerable - or at least unburden-some.

It's unhealthy, this noise. New York is a loud city and modern technology isn't helping tame the noise beast. Rather, technology is contributing to the problem. Subway cars triumphantly proclaim "Stand clear of the closing doors please!" And every white-earbud-wearing-bee-bopper who dons an iPod is a glaring experiment in hearing loss. Finally, subway platforms are ruthless. Small stations are sounding boards that echo entering and exiting trains to deafening decibels.

If you want to hear one of the most torturous sounds in New York City, stand on the 4, 5, 6 platform at 14th Street, Union Square. Who ever designed this station is stupid. The platform is unlike most other platforms in the subway system: It’s curved. What’s the big deal? Well, large train cars on metal wheels don’t do well with turns. Thousands of pounds of metal grinding against more metal tends to be unpleasant. As subway cars round turns this metal-grinding inevitably produces sound. Now it’s one thing to turn inside a tunnel where the sound has no escape and just reverberates upon itself, but to turn inside a station where passengers are standing only feet away? Idiotic engineering.

The only other mass transit system I’ve ridden is in Washington, D.C. Sadly, I’ve never ridden the undergrounds in London, Paris or Tokyo - all in due time though. Yet from what I've gathered, New York has one of the loudest, antiquated transit systems. With that said, New York’s subway’s were built to move people. This city is crowded - we’re talking 8.5 million people (or 27,000 per square mile) crowded. That’s more than twice the population density of the next closest US city, San Francisco. Hence, New York City’s transit system was built for efficiency. From its inception the subway was meant to move people quickly and effectively - luxury has never been a top concern of the Transit Authority. The 1990’s helped clean up the subways and new trains are finally appearing, but we still have a very antiquated transit system compared to other modern international metropolises.

This brings me back to the young lady on my train. She’s become accustomed to noisy train rides. In a previous post I discussed the drone of the subway and how it has the power to induce sleep when you least expect it. I still find it immensely manipulative and magnificent, lulling babies and grandfathers to sleep with it’s click-ity-clack. But when screeching and banging ruin my morning, or worse - cause sheer pain - something needs to change. When someone leans over in agony, squeezing their ears and wincing their eyes, any shred of whimsical subway mystic vanishes.

And I don’t want that to happen.

Ketchup is Awkward

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 22:46:24 -0400

Occasionally, train cars smell. The cause of the smell varies for every occasion, but invariably it’s never a pleasant cause. Vomit, homeless man or in the most recent case, Ketchup.

On my way to work one early, gorgeous Sunday morning, I stepped onto the train ready to enjoy my coffee and bagel, whence I was floored by a repugnant stench. Other passengers drew in the dreadful smell which beckoned their darting eyes, followed by swift movements away from the source. Smeared across three seats was thick, red ketchup.

To begin with, I don’t like ketchup. Fries, pancakes or hamburgers, I despise it. The flavor is overpowering, encroaching and demolishes any possible sense of enjoyment. The same is applicable to its smell. The odor of Ketchup is akin to that of rotting leftovers. Does this sound a little extreme? Probably, but seriously, I hate ketchup.

I’m sitting on the subway car. Breakfast is ruined thanks to ketchup beseeching of my senses and peevishly churning my stomach to ill feeling. The ketchup is reminiscent of a murder scene or bad graffiti. As the train nears Manhattan it becomes more crowded forcing people to occupy less desirable seating space, across or near the sloppy paste. Each new passenger becomes more irritated.

Here comes the painful part. At Queensboro Plaza (4 stops after mine) the train was crowded, even near the ketchup covered seats. An elderly lady waltzes in engrossed in her New York Times. She was so engrossed in what she was reading - as people often are - that she blocked out her environment, darting for the ketchup bench. From the moment I saw her I knew this unfortunate lady was going to sit in the ketchup. But it was one of those things that happened so quickly there was no time for action, I could only watch as what I anticipated indeed came true.

Play-by-play: Slow-motion. Doors open, passengers exit, she enters. Still reading, she heads for the open seat and... plop. Down she goes. She rubs it in a little, proud that she’s snagged a spot on the crowded subway. And the sad (ok, crudely humorous) part is that no one said a thing.

It would have been awkward, you know? What could we say? “Excuse me mam’, you just sat in ketchup. Instead of stopping you from ruining your morning and staining your clothes, I decided to watch it happen.” No, that wouldn’t work. We were too late. Hopes of doing a good deed were dashed. If we spoke up now, the whole scenario would back fire. She'd become enraged that a car full of cold-hearted New Yorkers watched her sit in ketchup.

Most riders shared my feeling of guilt. Our embarrassment for her was palpable. Still, a few snickered.

I'm just glad I wasn't there when she discovered the ketchup.