Sometimes New York seems like any other
place. It may run at a slightly faster pace than in the suburbs because it
takes so much longer to get from point A to B, in a crowd of over 8 million
people and all of the traffic that it produces. Still, when you go through the
motions long enough, you tend to forget where you really are. Like anywhere else,
it's a daily grind of going to work, running errands, feeding the cat and doing
laundry when you're down to your last pair of stinky socks. Then the weekend
comes and you remember...oh, yeah, I'm here, in the city that never sleeps.
And they don't call it that for nothing. There's always a place open for late
night and early morning diners and bars that haven't had a key turn in their
doors for years.
Once I left the strains of work behind me this afternoon and joined the herd in
the bustling streets of midtown, I was suddenly struck by the possibilities.
It's Saturday night and I can do just about anything here. Fortunately, my
friend Dina had weeded out all of the overwhelming options with free admission
to a theatrical production through knowing a few of the star players. Although,
to be honest, I could have just bee-lined to my bed and hibernated through the
weekend. But as a reminder, this year, I'm trying not to let a day go by that I
can't remember. So, I decided to take Dina up on her offer to attend the
performance. Dina is not someone I can easily say no to either. This five foot
one woman is, first of all, fifty percent Jewish, one part Italian, one part
Puerto Rican and one hundred percent sass. She can talk just about anyone into
doing anything, whether they want to or not, with either the use of the twists
and turns of her witty jumble on words, guilt, or sheer force if she has to. My
long frame can suddenly look very small next to that little force of nature. I
can't help but be drawn to it though. In some way, she brings out the sleeping
dragon within me that tends to be very passive and shy most of the time, and
often reminds me, that there is no time like now to do anything, and there is
no feat too big that cannot be reached if you really want it badly enough. Most
of the time, she is my biggest fan and strongest supporter.
I didn't even know the title of the show she was dragging me to until we got to
the refurbished, Jewish synagogue. It was just a few blocks from work so I
figured I'd keep her company and watch the two and a half hour theatrical
production of a WWII story (she tells me when it's too late to turn around and
go home). The last time I saw a production of a war story was the four hour
Russian opera, War and Peace when my friend Mark was in the ensemble and
I felt I needed to support him in his debut at the Metropolitan Opera. Although
Mark was amazing and it filled me with great pride to see him on that famed
stage, the story was much too long and it was all sung in a language I could
not understand a word of. It took everything I had to stay awake that last hour
and I was afraid I was doomed to go through the same thing tonight. Well, if
anything, I could catch up on some sleep if it was that bad.
When we reached the theater, Dina and I took our seats and she brought me up to
speed on the cast, the background of the story and its production members. The
play was called Black Angels over Tuskegee and the incredibly talented
and handsome Layon Gray was not only one of the actors, but also the writer,
director and founder of the company that produced the show. The story was based
on a collection of war stories from the first Tuskegee airmen, a fleet of the
first African-American military aviators who fought in the United States Army
Air Forces in WWII, under the Jim Crow laws. The same laws which mandated
racial segregation in all Southern states of the former Confederacy. In the
story, five men volunteered and were selected to take a very difficult exam
just to grant them entrance into the Army's Air Force for further training.
Despite their varied backgrounds and differences of opinion and temperament,
these soldiers eventually bound together in the face of war–in and out of their
homeland.
I've always been intrigued by the history of WWII and the horrors I hope that
human kind never face again, but I learned a thing or two from this story that
I thought had been laid to rest since that time. I'd like to say that it's not
like that anymore but sadly, I think I would be lying. A few months ago, during
a cold spell at the end of winter, I was downtown standing at a crosswalk
waiting for the light to change. While I was there, I observed three
African-American men standing a few feet away from me, trying to hail a cab.
One by one, half a dozen empty cabs drove right past them without a second
glance. The poor guys looked tired, frustrated and on the verge of kicking the
next empty cab that drove past them, when one of them noticed me standing
beside him. He looked younger than the other two and approached me rather
shyly, "Can I ask you a favor?" he said. I just looked at him warily
because people generally don't talk to you here unless they want to sell you
something, ask you for money or pick you up; and I was not in the mood to give
anyone the time of day that night. Because he was beside me and I wasn't going
to be able to move for the next forty seconds to a minute because of that
light, I couldn't just ignore the guy.
"What's
up?" I said.
"Well, I was
wondering if you could hail us a cab. We've been trying for a couple of minutes
but no one is stopping."
At this point,
the other two guys turned towards me, having heard the conversation, and the
three of them looked to me with heartbreak in their eyes at the indignity of
the entire situation. In the back of my head I thought, there's no way that
those cabs are not stopping because of the color of their skin. This is New
York City for Christ's sake. I didn't say this of course. I just smiled at
the guys and said, "Sure, no problem." I was secretly hoping that no
one would stop for me just so that I could put their mind's at ease and mine as
well, for that matter. But the second my hand flew up to hail a cab the first
one coming around the corner flew right past them and skid to a halt directly
in front of me. The guys who were standing a little further away from me at the
time, to give me my space, or rather, disassociate themselves from me, then
came running over in hurt and disbelief. I opened the cab door for them as they
slid into the back seat.
"I'm sorry
that just happened,” I told them in a whisper.
"Thank you
for your help," the youngest one told me.
And the very
confused cab driver pulled away after I closed the door and I stepped back,
leaving him with three very annoyed African-American men to drive all the way
home.
I was so moved by the story of Black Angels over Tuskegee, that by the
middle of the second act, I had to remind myself where I was so that I could
stop myself from heaving through my sobs. By the end of the show, my eyes were
such a puffy red mess that it looked like I had just walked out of a funeral
and the top half of my shirt was nearly soaked through from the downpour of my
salty tears. Thank God I wasn't alone. I looked over at Dina, her friend Rene,
who had joined us just before the show had started, and the woman sitting on
the other side of me, and they were likewise wiping their dewy faces and the
snot running down their noses too. After the standing ovation the three of us
filed out with the rest of the crowd to shake the hands of the actors by the
entrance of the theater. I don't know what came over me, but apparently, a mere
handshake would not do. I gave a big bear hug to each and every member of that
cast like they were my long lost relatives. The fact that they were some of the
most attractive African-American men I had ever come across certainly didn't
hurt my bold act of admiration either. They were so humble and sweet to me in
my pitiful state that I was nearly on the verge of tears again before I left
the theater.
After
gushing her words of reverence to the guys, she brought out, or dragged, her
friend Thaddeus Daniels to introduce to us. Thaddeus was one of the actors in
the show I had missed at the front entrance and also a reoccurring character on
one of my favorite television shows from the past, Law & Order. Like the rest of the men, he was humble and
as sweet as pie with ice cream on top. He had plans to go out with the rest of
the cast for drinks at a local hot spot when they were done making their rounds
in the theater and invited us to come along with them. After the life altering
experience I just had watching the show, continuing the night in the same
fashion was music to my ears.
The girls and I had gone ahead of the men and parked ourselves at the long
table reserved for us at Bourbon Street, a great little spot that faired Cajun
cuisine and great happy hour specials. Just as we made ourselves comfortable and
had our drinks plopped down in front of us, a line of tall, dark and hansom men
came filing through the doors and made their way to our table. Half of the patrons
there turned in unison like in a montage of a movie, where the crowd takes
notice of a band of bad asses coming forward in slow motion, broad chests out
and faces wearing a serious, "this means business" look on their way
to fight an impossible battle. I nearly swooned with the effect they had in the
room and felt a bit giddy when they joined us at our table. Their serious faces
suddenly gave way and seemed to melt into creamy white smiles when they sat
down in front of us. After the reintroductions and more hugs I couldn't help
giving, we laughed and got to know each other over the next few hours. I was
excited for their journey and hoped that these fine men get to do something
great with this story and the ones they plan to tell in the future. As surreal
as the night started out, in the end, it was like catching up with old friends.
I walked away with an experience that I could have easily missed out on if I
just let myself go home and fall asleep on my couch, like I did most days after
work. But today, I stayed awake.
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