I never thought I'd like New York other than a quick visit, but the more I read your column I'm pretty sure I'd like it quite a bit. Every clich'e and stereotype may have a kernel of truth at it's base - and yes, I gladly include those that have been applied to me. But New Yorkers might be a breed I could fall in with, as you describe them. Turning 61 in about a month makes me think about where home should be for my last 10-20 years. Thanks again for the millionth time for the food for thought.
I was on the C train riding home with my wife after outdoor lunch in the Village on a warm November day and I turned to her and said, "I'm done with car culture. I like being a pedestrian and a passenger." And it's the truth.
Amen, Amen, to your thoughts about being on foot in New York City! In my mind I see myself trying to find space on the sidewalk in some commercial neighborhoods there. A mobile rack of furs passes me - are they all mink coats? What trust the furriers must have, that they can send their wares from door to door under the motive power of a slender young man (or maybe woman, these days!) Then there's the danger of crossing intersections. Mobs of people collect like pigeons on power lines, hugging the curbs because drivers making turns think that pedestrian feet are fair game.
I've been guilty of adding to the melee myself. When flying out of JFK on the first leg of my long awaited APHC/HAL cruise, I generally take a train to Penn Station, then go uptown to the 65th Street YMCA (best bargain in town, that I've been able to discover!) At times, I've taken pedicabs. Talk about Mr. Toad's Wild Rides! The bike peddlers cruise along in the bus lanes, "pushing" traffic lights whenever possible, and getting within inches of aggressive taxi cab contenders in these mutual Gladiators' skirmishes!
It seems to me that you must be an exceedingly spry and "Wide Awake" close to octogenarian to manage to even get around in New York City on a daily basis! Long Live our Young- at- Heart Brave Urban-Bound Host!
We choirboys in St. Paul were rewarded by an annual two-week stay at choir camp in Wisconsin . Mixed in with the dozens of camp songs I recall was this cheer:
"Anoka, Anoka, Anoka, Minnesota! A-N-O-K-A! That's the way you spell it, here's the way you yell it, yeaaaaaaAAAAH, ANOKA! 'RAY! Do you remember that? Since the church was Episcopal (St. John the Evangelist) and we had no Anoka parishioners, I don't know how this made into our choir camp repertoire, right along with "Tell me Why", "Down by the Station," and the campfire closing Nunc Dimittis.
After teaching band for 29 years, I counted maybe 8 of them "successful", although I tried to give 100% on the other 21 as well. I bemoan the less successful years. I didn't do it for me, really; I wanted to share the music and the fun, and I see enough old students (and they are getting on in years) and parents who say nice things about good music and times back then that I guess it was okay. Thanks for the nice poem!
Thank you! Perhaps “success” was the wrong word. I was using what I think would be another person’s criteria, but we were in very different situations. I do know I did the best I could with what I have. I also know I am glad to be done with it. Retirement is good, especially when it feels well-deserved.
I was a teacher, and keeping order was essential. It's been a while since I retired and then visited New York, so I hope good behavior with eye contact is there now and doesn't need my Southern influence. We smile and make eye contact here in the Deep South.
Your poem about your teachers made me tear up. I was a teacher, and since retirement, I encounter many of my students working in their chosen vocations. My tree man, the medical aide, the dental hygienist, etc. all chat with me about school days, what inspired them, what they wish they could do over, but most of all their hopes for the future. I am so glad I got to be a part of their lives, however briefly.
Your ode to your teachers brings memories of my own. I wonder, as a "painfully shy" student, whether you had "private interactions" with any of them? As a "female" child, I felt on a 180 degree path from my "This is what little girls are made of" female parent. My teachers, mostly women, became my alternate role models. From at least the third grade on, I would hang around after school and "correct tests papers" for them. Mostly it was just columns of "True or False" lists - putting red marks by the student answers that didn't line up with the correct answer sheet. But, doing this, I got to spend hours after school with "Hurricane Hazel". She was a woman who might lose her temper in the classroom, but she was someone who treated forth-grade me as if I were a sentient adult. Or, in high school mathematics, our teacher invited a couple of us girls to spend our lunch hours with her one spring. In class, she called on the students whom she believed needed more "challenging", especially some boys. In the back room of the library, Polly and I were introduced to "Set Theory," a technique that was not in the standard curriculum. This teacher had a hunch that this technique might be the "Hundred-breaker" on that year's NY State Regents' exam, and she was right! Polly and I both scored 100% on the tests, thanks to her coaching.
For me, though, these hours spent "Working for the Teacher" gave me far more than a "Thanks. Job well done." It gave me a chance to explore "Extra-familial Womanhood" - to see that females could be something other than a Paris Island Drill Sergeant, out to change me from my natural self into some sort of artificial construct of "Femininity".
When we think of teachers, images of people standing in front of classrooms, giving lectures, may come to mind. It sounds, though, from your ode to Teachers, that you might also have had the gift of some "personal" interactions - chances to poke your head out of your shell on occasion, and find that the World valued you, more than you had thought! "Personal Validation" - that's a subject that's probably not discussed much in teachers' colleges. And yet, when teachers relate naturally to individual students, these "random acts of kindness and recognition" may emblazon themselves on students' memories for their whole lifetimes! Teachers are people, too!
The World is a better place because of Garrison Keillor. Thank you, GK!
Today's column is a masterpiece! Thank you for sharing.
I never thought I'd like New York other than a quick visit, but the more I read your column I'm pretty sure I'd like it quite a bit. Every clich'e and stereotype may have a kernel of truth at it's base - and yes, I gladly include those that have been applied to me. But New Yorkers might be a breed I could fall in with, as you describe them. Turning 61 in about a month makes me think about where home should be for my last 10-20 years. Thanks again for the millionth time for the food for thought.
Dean, Alameda Ca.
I was on the C train riding home with my wife after outdoor lunch in the Village on a warm November day and I turned to her and said, "I'm done with car culture. I like being a pedestrian and a passenger." And it's the truth.
Amen, Amen, to your thoughts about being on foot in New York City! In my mind I see myself trying to find space on the sidewalk in some commercial neighborhoods there. A mobile rack of furs passes me - are they all mink coats? What trust the furriers must have, that they can send their wares from door to door under the motive power of a slender young man (or maybe woman, these days!) Then there's the danger of crossing intersections. Mobs of people collect like pigeons on power lines, hugging the curbs because drivers making turns think that pedestrian feet are fair game.
I've been guilty of adding to the melee myself. When flying out of JFK on the first leg of my long awaited APHC/HAL cruise, I generally take a train to Penn Station, then go uptown to the 65th Street YMCA (best bargain in town, that I've been able to discover!) At times, I've taken pedicabs. Talk about Mr. Toad's Wild Rides! The bike peddlers cruise along in the bus lanes, "pushing" traffic lights whenever possible, and getting within inches of aggressive taxi cab contenders in these mutual Gladiators' skirmishes!
It seems to me that you must be an exceedingly spry and "Wide Awake" close to octogenarian to manage to even get around in New York City on a daily basis! Long Live our Young- at- Heart Brave Urban-Bound Host!
We choirboys in St. Paul were rewarded by an annual two-week stay at choir camp in Wisconsin . Mixed in with the dozens of camp songs I recall was this cheer:
"Anoka, Anoka, Anoka, Minnesota! A-N-O-K-A! That's the way you spell it, here's the way you yell it, yeaaaaaaAAAAH, ANOKA! 'RAY! Do you remember that? Since the church was Episcopal (St. John the Evangelist) and we had no Anoka parishioners, I don't know how this made into our choir camp repertoire, right along with "Tell me Why", "Down by the Station," and the campfire closing Nunc Dimittis.
"Nunc Dimittis"?? Really? I am impressed.
Thank you so much for the poem. I am a teacher and it made me cry. It's a tough time of the semester right now.
After teaching band for 29 years, I counted maybe 8 of them "successful", although I tried to give 100% on the other 21 as well. I bemoan the less successful years. I didn't do it for me, really; I wanted to share the music and the fun, and I see enough old students (and they are getting on in years) and parents who say nice things about good music and times back then that I guess it was okay. Thanks for the nice poem!
I think you should rethink those 29 years and come up with more than eight successful ones. You're being too hard on yourself.
Thank you! Perhaps “success” was the wrong word. I was using what I think would be another person’s criteria, but we were in very different situations. I do know I did the best I could with what I have. I also know I am glad to be done with it. Retirement is good, especially when it feels well-deserved.
I was a teacher, and keeping order was essential. It's been a while since I retired and then visited New York, so I hope good behavior with eye contact is there now and doesn't need my Southern influence. We smile and make eye contact here in the Deep South.
I remember them, too. All of them.
Your poem about your teachers made me tear up. I was a teacher, and since retirement, I encounter many of my students working in their chosen vocations. My tree man, the medical aide, the dental hygienist, etc. all chat with me about school days, what inspired them, what they wish they could do over, but most of all their hopes for the future. I am so glad I got to be a part of their lives, however briefly.
Your ode to your teachers brings memories of my own. I wonder, as a "painfully shy" student, whether you had "private interactions" with any of them? As a "female" child, I felt on a 180 degree path from my "This is what little girls are made of" female parent. My teachers, mostly women, became my alternate role models. From at least the third grade on, I would hang around after school and "correct tests papers" for them. Mostly it was just columns of "True or False" lists - putting red marks by the student answers that didn't line up with the correct answer sheet. But, doing this, I got to spend hours after school with "Hurricane Hazel". She was a woman who might lose her temper in the classroom, but she was someone who treated forth-grade me as if I were a sentient adult. Or, in high school mathematics, our teacher invited a couple of us girls to spend our lunch hours with her one spring. In class, she called on the students whom she believed needed more "challenging", especially some boys. In the back room of the library, Polly and I were introduced to "Set Theory," a technique that was not in the standard curriculum. This teacher had a hunch that this technique might be the "Hundred-breaker" on that year's NY State Regents' exam, and she was right! Polly and I both scored 100% on the tests, thanks to her coaching.
For me, though, these hours spent "Working for the Teacher" gave me far more than a "Thanks. Job well done." It gave me a chance to explore "Extra-familial Womanhood" - to see that females could be something other than a Paris Island Drill Sergeant, out to change me from my natural self into some sort of artificial construct of "Femininity".
When we think of teachers, images of people standing in front of classrooms, giving lectures, may come to mind. It sounds, though, from your ode to Teachers, that you might also have had the gift of some "personal" interactions - chances to poke your head out of your shell on occasion, and find that the World valued you, more than you had thought! "Personal Validation" - that's a subject that's probably not discussed much in teachers' colleges. And yet, when teachers relate naturally to individual students, these "random acts of kindness and recognition" may emblazon themselves on students' memories for their whole lifetimes! Teachers are people, too!