There is a buzz of activity and life and hope in New York that comes from places other than its streets, avenues and parks. These sounds of life, energy, frustration and hope come from classrooms and specifically also from the hundreds of classrooms of the Lutheran schools of New York. I had to return to hear them again. I attended the Annual Dinner meeting of The Lutheran Schools Association of Metro New York. There I was with hundreds of those teachers and administrators who bring learning and opportunity and hope to those kids. The energy in the room was palpable. Laugher, and hugs, and conversations mingled with hugs and drinks and congratulations. It is a sad and yet profound truth that there are many areas in New York City where it is flat-out impossible to get any kind of a decent education in the public schools of that community. The system is broken. Parents who seek the alternative of a non-public (often faith-based school) will work three jobs including scrubbing floors to get their kids into one of those schools and pay the necessary tuition. There they meet teachers who care, who work at salaries way below their counter-parts in the public system. The teachers reach out to communicate with parents who in the case of one school in Queens spoke 19 different primary languages. They serve with commitment and faith and sometimes with disillusionment. One of the great things about the dinner I was attending was that it brought encouragement and recognition to teachers from all segments of that cosmopolitan community. So some came from affluent Long Island while others came from tough underserved impoverished sections of Brooklyn. But all were celebrating learning, hope, faith and possibility - and their energy and commitment to kids permeated the room and enveloped me.
The next afternoon I got to be a part of another little piece of New York, that of working the system! My long time friends and colleague Howard Capell, Esquire had always taken on Lutheran schools legal issues. He served us with extreme competence, with all his connections and with a passion for mission. I knew my evening with him would again be special. He had promised to pick me up at 6:00, but around 4:00 the cell phone rang. “I have just crossed the TriBorough Bridge. Get to the corner of 93rd and Second and I’ll pick you up in a few minutes”. Naturally, he was on the phone as I climbed into the car. ”See you in 20 minutes’, was the message to the next contact.” “Just come down to the street.” So some 20 minutes later the well dressed gentleman on the curb of Fifth Avenue in mid-town came to our car door to hand us well placed tickets for that night’s performance of La CageAux Folle. Howie has his police contact who got to the half-price ticket counter in Times Square the minute it opens. He finds out what’s available, puts on hold a couple tickets, notifies the next person in the process who picks up the tickets who gets them to the person who meets our car on Fifth Avenue and hands us the tickets as we roll along.
Next stop is Times Square. Howie identifies the officer patrolling the section. With a quick nod he directs us to a parking garage where an attendant is waiting, the car is parked, and we are back on the street in 90 seconds. The patrol officer had been the one who first investigated and then noted what was going on with that failed bomb attempt recently. He recounts those events to us in vivid and chilling detail. Howie, of course, knows him by name and tells him that he has already sent a generous donation to the Police Benevolent Society in honor for this particular public servant.
But we wanted to eat and had no pre-theater reservation. Howie took one look at the famous restaurant across the street, asked the officer about chances for table, without reservations. “It may take up to 5 minutes”, came the reply,” but come with me.” The Maître de was by-passed; the manager had a table for us and only 3 minutes had elapsed. The service, drinks and dinner were great. The show was even better. The car-parking fee was, of course complimentary and Howie and I continued on our post-theater evening.
That, too, is how the system works in New York and I am fortunate enough to have a friend who knows exactly how to use it!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
I Love New York (I)
Blog: I Love New York (I)
I love New York and it was way past time for me to return there to get my “New York fix”. So in between one granddaughter’s wedding in Maine and another’s confirmation in Connecticut I was off to the The City. As the bus rolled down the streets of Harlem the memories flooded in. There was that Lutheran Church just barely surviving while almost across the street the Abyssinian Baptist Church still reverberates with beautiful soul and echoes of Adam Clayton Powell. The Lutheran School On the Hill, which produced so many wonderful black graduates, sits shuttered.
The street-side food hawkers await me at the Port Authority Bus Terminal entrance and I can’t resist that fully loaded New York hot dog, delaying the mustard smeared pretzel for later.
After a good night’s sleep courtesy of faithful friends and colleagues Marlene and Helene, I am off from their wonderful apartment on East 93rd Street determined to walk all the way to Times Square. Second Ave. now is overwhelmed with a new subway going in underground and the blasts of dynamite regularly raise the ire and shake the very building foundations of neighbors.
But business must go on and so I pass the shops showing only women’s hats, or thousands of options in olive oil, delis and fruit stands. I watch in admiration as a young mother is determined to get her photo of her little son trying to maneuver his skateboard in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.
I work my way west into that most marvelous green heaven called Central Park. Baby carriages of all descriptions are pushed in all directions. The pushers are women from every country on earth and usually with a skin color different from the baby being tended – who all seem to be white. Then I notice the competition and yet harmonious sharing of space all around me. That woman is leading a class in yoga. There is the small musical trio with traditional brass while barely out of earshot is the guy beating the rhythms of his country on a set of pots and pans. Tourists mingle with lovers weaving their way around pre-school outings. Horse drawn carriages glide next to skateboards, wheelchairs, and pedicabs while just outside the Park the New York cabs stream by as in an unruly funeral procession.
I leave the Park and enter the Plaza Hotel. I need to stir those memories of high tea in the vast entryway, drinks at the Oak Bar and the remembrance that the last time I stopped there it was on my way home from a grand event at the top of The World Trade Center. I must at least pay a quick visit to the Trump Tower and recall the serendipitous visit I had with a resident of that address who had invited me aboard his big yacht moored in the Bahamas when he was there for vacation and I was there to mediate a conflict at a Lutheran church/school.
I make it to Times Square in time for lunch. I sit at the bar, sip my beer and reflect on my years in New York. I recall those incredibly committed teachers and parents of the more than 50 Lutheran schools there, the hard-nosed negotiations with government officials to ensure that non-public schools get their fair share of allocated state and federal funds, my time as part-time assistant to the Bishop, work at the Center for Urban Education Ministries, church/school conflict resolutions, anniversaries, the AIDS epidemic!
Memories seep in and out-and as I get ready to pay my check. The gal tending the bar looked at me and (out the blue) says “Just notice that I decided not to charge you for that second beer. It’s on me!’ And all of this takes me until only early afternoon. The evening is another story and the topic of my next blog, I Love New York (II).
I love New York and it was way past time for me to return there to get my “New York fix”. So in between one granddaughter’s wedding in Maine and another’s confirmation in Connecticut I was off to the The City. As the bus rolled down the streets of Harlem the memories flooded in. There was that Lutheran Church just barely surviving while almost across the street the Abyssinian Baptist Church still reverberates with beautiful soul and echoes of Adam Clayton Powell. The Lutheran School On the Hill, which produced so many wonderful black graduates, sits shuttered.
The street-side food hawkers await me at the Port Authority Bus Terminal entrance and I can’t resist that fully loaded New York hot dog, delaying the mustard smeared pretzel for later.
After a good night’s sleep courtesy of faithful friends and colleagues Marlene and Helene, I am off from their wonderful apartment on East 93rd Street determined to walk all the way to Times Square. Second Ave. now is overwhelmed with a new subway going in underground and the blasts of dynamite regularly raise the ire and shake the very building foundations of neighbors.
But business must go on and so I pass the shops showing only women’s hats, or thousands of options in olive oil, delis and fruit stands. I watch in admiration as a young mother is determined to get her photo of her little son trying to maneuver his skateboard in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.
I work my way west into that most marvelous green heaven called Central Park. Baby carriages of all descriptions are pushed in all directions. The pushers are women from every country on earth and usually with a skin color different from the baby being tended – who all seem to be white. Then I notice the competition and yet harmonious sharing of space all around me. That woman is leading a class in yoga. There is the small musical trio with traditional brass while barely out of earshot is the guy beating the rhythms of his country on a set of pots and pans. Tourists mingle with lovers weaving their way around pre-school outings. Horse drawn carriages glide next to skateboards, wheelchairs, and pedicabs while just outside the Park the New York cabs stream by as in an unruly funeral procession.
I leave the Park and enter the Plaza Hotel. I need to stir those memories of high tea in the vast entryway, drinks at the Oak Bar and the remembrance that the last time I stopped there it was on my way home from a grand event at the top of The World Trade Center. I must at least pay a quick visit to the Trump Tower and recall the serendipitous visit I had with a resident of that address who had invited me aboard his big yacht moored in the Bahamas when he was there for vacation and I was there to mediate a conflict at a Lutheran church/school.
I make it to Times Square in time for lunch. I sit at the bar, sip my beer and reflect on my years in New York. I recall those incredibly committed teachers and parents of the more than 50 Lutheran schools there, the hard-nosed negotiations with government officials to ensure that non-public schools get their fair share of allocated state and federal funds, my time as part-time assistant to the Bishop, work at the Center for Urban Education Ministries, church/school conflict resolutions, anniversaries, the AIDS epidemic!
Memories seep in and out-and as I get ready to pay my check. The gal tending the bar looked at me and (out the blue) says “Just notice that I decided not to charge you for that second beer. It’s on me!’ And all of this takes me until only early afternoon. The evening is another story and the topic of my next blog, I Love New York (II).
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Wedding Anniversary
Today is the 59th wedding anniversary of Jane and me. As I recall my expectations of that day so many years ago I realize what an optimistic and idealist young guy I was. Yet it’s even more true that my dreams have come true, my idealism was too limited, my expectations too narrow
Who could ever imagines the life we have been sharing. Our five kids, eight grandkids and the in-laws that go with all that continue to amaze and bless us. The shifts in vocation and settings for our life are in sharp contrast to what we then anticipated. Both of us then imagined very satisfying lives as teachers and possibly as principal in Lutheran parochial schools. And that could have been great. But we never dreamed of international career opportunities, service around the world, colleagues at many levels of organizations and foci as broad as our faith and as interesting as interpersonal communications.
All of this in the midst of drama and trauma, Infant daughter Elizabeth in intensive care on Christmas Eve fighting for every breath. Leaving a classroom in Kowloon just minutes before bullets streamed in from a rioting crowd outside. Flying across the Pacific with kids in tow and Jane in a coma with a cerebral aneurysm. Scrambling out of Tiananmen Square as the Chinese army moved in and mowed down protesting students (and then being unable to communicate with home for three days). Years later being stranded for days in the Far East when terror struck the World Trade Center.
Living together in 17 different apartments, homes, condos and a retirement community.
Remarkable evenings out together for dinner at places as exotic as Gaddis in the Peninsula Hotel, the top of the World Trade Center, Hawaiian beachfront lounges; and also including the best available fish stomach soup enjoyed with very poor refugee colleagues in Kowloon.
And how our Christmas card lists have changed through these 59 years, ever expanding, names being deleted, memories being amassed and support experienced beyond all reasonable expectations.
Religious perspectives deepened, faith became more profound, greater acceptance of mystery, ever-expanding inclusiveness of who is within God’s providence and care.
Increased sensitivity and skills in listening, resolving differences, sharing dreams, and disappointment and fears and deep and growing love.
No this is not what I could ever have imagined 59 years ago and yet it has all transpired and I know who and Whom to thank. On this day, too, I look not only backwards but also forward, knowing that forgiveness, love, acceptance and partnership will only be enhanced even as the number 59 moves to the next decade.
Who could ever imagines the life we have been sharing. Our five kids, eight grandkids and the in-laws that go with all that continue to amaze and bless us. The shifts in vocation and settings for our life are in sharp contrast to what we then anticipated. Both of us then imagined very satisfying lives as teachers and possibly as principal in Lutheran parochial schools. And that could have been great. But we never dreamed of international career opportunities, service around the world, colleagues at many levels of organizations and foci as broad as our faith and as interesting as interpersonal communications.
All of this in the midst of drama and trauma, Infant daughter Elizabeth in intensive care on Christmas Eve fighting for every breath. Leaving a classroom in Kowloon just minutes before bullets streamed in from a rioting crowd outside. Flying across the Pacific with kids in tow and Jane in a coma with a cerebral aneurysm. Scrambling out of Tiananmen Square as the Chinese army moved in and mowed down protesting students (and then being unable to communicate with home for three days). Years later being stranded for days in the Far East when terror struck the World Trade Center.
Living together in 17 different apartments, homes, condos and a retirement community.
Remarkable evenings out together for dinner at places as exotic as Gaddis in the Peninsula Hotel, the top of the World Trade Center, Hawaiian beachfront lounges; and also including the best available fish stomach soup enjoyed with very poor refugee colleagues in Kowloon.
And how our Christmas card lists have changed through these 59 years, ever expanding, names being deleted, memories being amassed and support experienced beyond all reasonable expectations.
Religious perspectives deepened, faith became more profound, greater acceptance of mystery, ever-expanding inclusiveness of who is within God’s providence and care.
Increased sensitivity and skills in listening, resolving differences, sharing dreams, and disappointment and fears and deep and growing love.
No this is not what I could ever have imagined 59 years ago and yet it has all transpired and I know who and Whom to thank. On this day, too, I look not only backwards but also forward, knowing that forgiveness, love, acceptance and partnership will only be enhanced even as the number 59 moves to the next decade.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
