Home movies of New York City in 1976.
I don’t have fond memories of the 1970s. The vibe was downright soviet, with extra litter. Of course ’76 was far from the low water mark for NYC. The early eighties were much worse. It turned around after that, and almost got livable, I guess. How would I know? I always avoided the place like a plague city, even when I had to work there for a stretch. I always got in and out as lickety split as possible. I remember distinctly the feeling of driving into the city for work, though. I felt like it was eating me and everyone else on the highway.
I’m originally from Boston. Boston and NYC have healthy competitive dislike of one another. It goes way back when Boston didn’t seem so lilliputian compared to the Big Rotten Apple. Boston used to matter more than it does now. To someone from say, Los Angeles, there probably doesn’t seem like a lot of difference between a New Yorker and a Bostonian. But the two factions always cherished the distinctions between them. Both used Rhode Island as a kind of no man’s land where you couldn’t tell which accent you had, New York or Boston. If you’ve never heard a true Vo Dieland accent, you haven’t lived.
I’ll always fondly remember the first day I showed up in New York at an office I’d been placed in charge of all of a sudden. It was the main office, and I’m sure the New Yorkers couldn’t countenance being lorded over by some dimwit from Boston. God, anywhere but from Boston.
I don’t have a Boston accent. Not really even a hint of one. I can get into one for comedic purposes, but it’s no better than my Cockney imitation, which isn’t even a three on the Michael Caine scale. Anyway, I entered the big lobby of my new New York digs and explained to the receptionist at the big, semicircular welcome desk in the two-story atrium who I was, and who I wanted to see. She never uttered a sound, just cocked her bouffanterrific head a bit sideways and looked at me with a puzzled expression, the way that the dog on the RCA Victor label used to look at the big cornucopia speaker on the windup record player. And then came out with this, finally:
“Yew toik fuhnny.”
6 Responses
Tales from the -40 longitude
Good video. My 7th and 8th grade classes sold magazine subscriptions to fund a class trip to New York. That was in the 1960s. I have fond memories of NYC in the 1970s. Newport in New York Jazz Festival- many years. Thelonius Monk, Duke Ellington, et al. Visiting my starving artist cousin in her SoHo digs. Strand Book Store and many more used book stores. Now nearly all gone, says my cousin. Strand is still standing. Hardware and electronics cheapo store on Canal Street. All gone. Chinese bakeries. Not gone. I think I may have seen one of those Chinese bakeries in the video.
The university I attended my freshman year took about a third of its students from New York City, mostly Jews. Bronx Science- quite a few. In a way that was an exposure to NYC. Lively conversationalists. Interesting people. Most did not have the Noo Yawk accent. My roommate from Manhattan didn’t, but his father did. Though I don’t consider Donald Trump to have a Noo Yawk accent, either.
Being from New England, I prefer Boston to New York. Smaller scale.
Regarding NYC in the 1980s, I recall observing a dope dealer peddling his stuff- nonstop spiel- in front of my cousin’s SoHo apartment. They went away, but in recent years, the neighborhood is going down some.
I remember my last time in NY-effin-C was around 1992 or thereabouts. There was a site with our equipment on it that had failed up in Yonkers, and the drive up from the airport (JFK?) was about 15 or 20 miles, right through Harlem. The guy who came with me (from a small Midwestern town) kept checking the rental car doors to make sure they were locked. I remember thinking that I’d seen war zones that looked less bombed-out than some parts of that city.
The factory was right on the river, and had a three-layer set of 10-foot chain link fences topped with razor wire around it, and armed guards patrolling with attack dogs in between the fences We got our repairs done and got out before dark. All the guys from the plant that we were working with (good folks, one and all) assured us it wasn’t so bad…but none of ’em parked their cars outside the boundary.
You almost couldn’t pay me enough to go back; you’d have to offer me a lot of bucks and a NY carry permit for an AK.
Christmas 1968 was the last time I was in NYC. I had sewn our Christmas outfits for my little girl and myself. A green wool coat for my 3 year old had a white rabbit fur collar. We arrived at the new TWA terminal (Sarinnen). I was so excited to see this new modern terminal. It was wonderful walking through there. When we got out front to the curb my daughter and I were standing on the curb waiting for the bus. He pulled up in front of us and opened the door. I picked up my little girl and lifted her onto the bus stairs. I turned away to pick up my suitcase and the driver had closed the door and was starting to drive away with my little girl sitting in the muddy filthy stairwell. Then he stopped opened the door and laughed! Since then I have been fortunate to make several trips to Europe–never once going through New York. It’s strange to think that when I flew in there were no world towers they had not yet been built, and now they are gone and replaced. I do remember being with my mom and aunt in NYC just after the war.I remember the Macy’s Christmas window. That New York was 20 years before my experience. I think the people must have been much nicer during the war years and into the fifties.
Happy New Year to all here at Sippican !