Stopped by to visit an old friend today. I used to live within walking distance of this spot and spent so much time on these cliffs, running, taking long walks, filled with all kinds of moods – jubilant, grieving, restless, hopeful – or just having a cup of coffee, sitting kind of above the spot where the man bit it in 1804. I haven’t been to see him in a long time.
When I moved to that neighborhood there was still a hole in lower Manhattan. My first pictures of this area shows the hole. A hole in the ground, yes, but I always saw it as a hole in the sky. I still see that hole in the sky, to this day. I don’t care that another building’s there. I still see the old ones, with all those souls in them.
I love the little area where his bust stands: it’s a bit isolated, it’s off to the side, it’s not in the middle of a busy park where people would just take it for granted. You have to want to get there, you have to decide to walk down that little side street and visit him. I like that. He worked so hard in his life, then we should work at least a little hard to go see him.
My only complaint about it is that I don’t understand why he’s not facing New York, the city where his legacy can still be felt. He should be facing New York!
It was freezing cold today with a HUGE wind. It was windy down in the low marsh-area where I live, and it was ferocious up where he sits. Scary almost. I had to wrestle to get my car door closed against that wind. The city, in all its gleam and promise … the city … so laid low right now, everyone hurting, scared, lonely, the streets quiet, empty, ghostly … The city is waiting. Waiting for everyone to return. But the city is still there, just like the flag is still there (whenever I hear those famous words now I will always see in my head the heart-stoppingly HUGE gesture Lady Gaga made during those lines in her triumphant – solemn – transcendentally patriotic – inauguration performance – still haven’t recovered). It’s all still there. But I felt sad looking at New York, pierced with love for it, pierced with sadness about its pain right now. We’ve been through a lot, that city and I.
I froze my ass off, and stood on that little parapet area and looked. Looked and looked and LOOKED at that city. MY city.
And with my fingers I traced over his name in the freezing marble. Like I’ve done 100 times before. And I mean it every time.
I felt things I can’t explain.
Goodbye for now.
And turn AROUND, pallie. Face the city that remembers you, face the city that you helped build.
He was such a babe.
I feel I should miss all of this more than I do. 29 years in Manhattan, 6 more years — in West New York. But I live in NH now and am saner, happier, retired, watching bad TV, following politics, reading a lot (never as much as you). But I used to walk there, too, and these pictures did ping my heart. It is, admittedly, a wonderful spot. And, of course, he should be facing the city. But what irony that he is not. I love reading you. You are at least 30 or so years “behind” me, so I read you with pleasure and “saudades” but I regret not a wit. BTW, I looked it up and the Queen Mary went into Long Beach in 1967. We crossed the Atlantic again nine times on other ships, but I’ll never forget that first trip in 1949. Thanks for all the memories you bring up for me.
Love your stories of the Queen Mary – that’s so cool!