Just a Couple of Characters in the City

“Let’s just drive,” said Jim after he and Charlie had each had their turn in the barber’s chair on Saturday. We had been planning to take the train into New York as Jim needed to go to his office. He can only get into the building until 4pm on Saturday and during the week the train is the most efficient way to go, but weekends can be different.

“Sure why not? We haven’t driven in in a while,” I said, glancing back at Charlie in the backseat. He’d gotten a smooth buzz cut from Vince the barber and was rubbing the crown of his head.

The transportation gods must have decided to shine on us because we were up the Turnpike across from the Hudson River and then through the Lincoln Tunnel with ease. We left the black car in a garage on 57th street and walked over to Jim’s office near Lincoln Center. Charlie had insisted on still wearing his suddenly very heavy-seeming blue fleece jacket and we coaxed him to remove it, and his fleece gloves. The hood was damp as I bundled it into my bag. Charlie was soon skimming his way up 9th Avenue, in short sleeves and camo-cargo pants. He asked again for his gloves and I zipped them into one of his pants pockets.

It was 1.30pm: Jim sat down to work and Charlie and I headed to the Flame diner, where we stood behind two limousine drivers who were studiously hunched over the menu. I ordered Charlie fries to go and he carried out the white paper bag as the shorter (and wider) driver asked for a grilled chicken section with “lettuce, tomato, fries, all that stuff.” Charlie sat opposite Jim at his desk and first enjoyed the large cup of ketchup that had been provided, and had no objections to Jim and me helping ourselves.

Just before 4pm (after Charlie had made another foray out, to a CVS), we hurried down the elevator. Jim and Charlie left me looking into stores at bright pretty things. They took the subway up to Columbia University where they encountered a protest; walked around; got back on a crowded subway where someone glared at Charlie and informed Jim, and at least three times: “He stepped on my foot!” Jim tried the usual explanations and then they got off in the 70’s and started walking.

It was warm with slightly muted sunlight from the clouds coming and going. Jim called me and said “We’ll meet you on Broadway!” I window-shopped and people-watched as I made my way north and found myself just below where we’d been on Thursday night, by the Manhattan Jewish Community Center for the Artistic Spectrum reading. We’d had to leave in something of a rush as last Thursday it had been getting late and Charlie had school the next day, of course. Now I could take in the neighborhood and walk, not rush.

After a few minutes, I saw two lanky guys in black t-shirts: Charlie grabbed Jim’s hand and then mine and we proceeded down to Columbus Circle. (It was a little tricky to walk three in a row on a street full of pedestrians, dogs, strollers, and sidewalk vendors but we managed.) We had dinner at one of Charlie’s favorite spots—Whole Foods—and were lucky to find the end of a table to eat at, beside two women conversing in German. I noted that one woman had a large piece of bread with her salad and directed Charlie to sit on the opposite side of the table. Jim appeared with our food and Charlie was absorbed in a pack of seafood sushi and then reached for his dessert, which he ate layer by layer—-to the eyebrow-raising (and staring) of the woman next to him.

“Maybe we should move over there,” Jim stage-whispered.

“Ist Kein Problem,” I said, at normal volume.

Charlie continued to eat (as did the other occupants of the table).

On the way back to get the car, we looped down towards the Hudson River and the piers. There’s a path, partly for bike riders (who very forcefully tell you to get out of the way) and for very serious runners. Charlie kept close to a wall put up to block off a construction site and said “blue ocean, yes” when the wall ended after a huge mound of sand. The sun was just starting to set and lit up the apartment towers in Fort Lee. We passed a large shed and Charlie stopped before stacks of canoes. “Open in a few weeks,” some people inside smiled. “We’re cleaning up.” Charlie kept looking.

“I like to be near the water.” A gnarled and strong-shoulder man in track pants and a certain spring in his voice said. He noted that you could take out on a boat onto the water: “I think I’ll do that, when they let you,” he said. He and Jim started to walk down a pier. Charlie and I followed, until we came across two soda machines and Charlie asked for a lemonade. “I don’t have $2, I think we bought your fries with that,” I said, half an ear and an eye on Jim and the man, especially when I heard him say, emphatically and with a low laugh, “Cockeye Dunn!”

Jim was several feet away but we caught each other’s eye, just as we have so many times over the years when some stranger’s tried to muffle their shock at hearing Charlie let out a very loud, very sudden, shriek in a public place. Cockeye Dunn is one of the waterfront characters who figure in the book about the port of New Jersey and New York that Jim finished a few months ago. Jim’s been researching and writing the book for the ten years which is to say, through all the time that we’ve been moving around and trying and worrying to teach Charlie, take care of Charlie, to do what’s right for his life and for his future.

I guess you could say, Cockeye Dunn, the waterfront priest, and the whole gang have had to wait.

I knew Jim and the man at the boathouse had something to talk about. After convincing Charlie that we’d have to wait for the soda (”Dad has the money”), he and I found a bench and looked at the river until Jim came over and asked for a pen to write down some information. “84 years old; said he’s been married a couple of times…..” “Longshoreman?” I asked. “Construction,” said Jim. “We should do the boats,” I said. “Yeah, you just have to know how to swim and Charlie sure can—-hey pal, back to get the black car!”

Charlie was already ahead on the path, walking with his right shoulder close against the railing, and the river splashing right nearby. We drove back to Jersey over the George Washington Bridge, Charlie with his blue fleece coat on, the hood pulled close over his head, and his eyes wide at the panorama of lights from Newark and Elizabeth and the whole metropolis around the Airport.

Guess you could say we’re just a couple of characters who like to be in the city, and who like to be near the water, too.