I’m humming the dopey song by Katrina and the Waves, Walking On Sunshine, after my encounter with a Real New Yorker earlier today.  I say “dopey” because it’s hard for me to reconcile the blaring optimism of its major chords and feel-good lyrics with the 4/4 beat of bad vibes coming from the Eurozone, Washington, and Mitch McConnell’s disingenuous “Yertle the Turtle” mouth.

But the song had to be sung, after my meeting with an African gas station attendant today.  I drove up, got out of the car and asked for $40 dollars worth.  Today’s sun was warm, and felt good on my bones, so I stretched and smiled.  He laughed, and he stretched too.

“Such a beautiful day,” he said.  “A gift.”  I agreed.  He turned to the expanse of Van Cortlandt Park across the street.  The leaves were turning, the air was cool and fresh.  A team of workers tended the Park’s athletic fields, a vast carpet of green worn after a summer of hard use by kids from around the City.  The weather reports for the rest of the week were for sheets of cold, wind-driven rain, but today was superb. 

“I plan to take a run after work,” he said.  “I will either run the cross-country course in the park, there, or perhaps down the East Side along the river, from my block on 116th Street to South Street and back.”   

I nodded in agreement. “Such a day is too beautiful to waste,” he said in his accented English.  I looked down the block and saw two school teachers leading a gaggle of pre-schoolers towards the park.  They were all laughing and in high spirits, these little kids, as they held onto their leash/tow-rope.  Some of them were actually skipping.  Imagine that!  Such a miserable world and these kids were skipping.
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I looked up at the sky.  It was Boulder blue.  I suddenly felt calmer.  My gas station guy, from Cote d’Ivoire, did the trick, along with the kids.  The problems, they will be there tomorrow.  They always will.  But today is a magical day, to be savored, appreciated, revered, lived.

Some say that The Real New Yorker believes that there is no place for positivity, when a sour disposition will do just fine.  A sunny outlook?  Ha, that’s for the rubes in smalltown America, right?

Wrong. Sometimes, even New Yorkers have to bop along with Katrina and the Waves.  It’s not mindless.  It’s mindful — of the gift of life, which can be snatched away in the blink of an eye. 

What does this great image, from the New York Daily News in the days immediately following the 1977 blackout, have to do with this new blog, The Real New Yorkers?

Two answers spring to mind.  First, the mind-boggling demographic and physical changes in New York City during the past few years compels us to re-assess our citywide frames of reference.  The city is always a work-in-progress, but the last few years have been nothing short of eye-popping. 

History lesson for those who dine, party and/or live in Bushwick, Brooklyn.  This photo shows Bushwick looters, helping themselves to merchandise from stores torched in the aftermath of the big blackout on a scorching hot New York summer night in ’77.  Today, the L train is perpetually packed, into the wee hours.  Bushwick draws incredibly vibrant, original, creative people — from all over the country.  Is “the new Bushwick” in danger of becoming a cliche, another shrink-wrapped section of NYC?  One might argue that, in some ways, it already has become the SoHo of the new milennium, a bold idea in real danger of being co-opted by subsidized poseurs.  You know how it goes with New York City neighborhoods: first come the trappers, then the ranchers, then the farmers, then the tenderfoot townspeople. Any fan of John Ford’s flicks can tell you that. 

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There’s another point, however, that this image — the photo of looters, that is — brings to mind, regarding “what makes a ‘real New Yorker'”?  I think of the bold public discourse regarding the morality of Wall Street in this moment of Occupy Wall Street.

Much of the discussion is reduced to “one percenters vs. ninety-nine percenters.”  Here’s my take and here’s why it’s important to — now — define terms re: The Real New Yorkers.  New York is — and always has been — about making money.  It started as a Dutch trading post.  We are all about commerce and we are big-league about it.  Here are the swashbucklers, the Bob Gibson’s who throw the ball high and tight because, hey, we own the inside of the plate and you either back off or get beaned.

But: we should not loot.  We should not create catastrophe and then plunder.  IMHO, The Real New Yorkers should work hard, play hard — yet retain compassion for those less fortunate.  Dudes: you did not come over on the Mayflower.  Want to make oodles of money?  Sure, go ahead, sharpen your algos along with your elbows and do what you have to do, as long as it’s legal.  Do not, however, set fires and then loot — which is basically what the big money boys did, just like the punks in Bushwick  34 years ago.

Who indeed are “the REAL New Yorkers”?

This blog will explore the people who make New York hum, the places they go, the things they do — and more.  Importantly, we’ll travel throughout the city, into all five boroughs.  It is a very big mistake to focus only upon Manhattan and some quarters of Brooklyn fancied by some of today’s tastemakers.  After all, what is the shelf life of the New York zipcodes du jour?   

Those that made New York City great, and who will continue to do so, live throughout the city. 

And, in my opinion, one thing they have in common is “soul”  — in the visceral, 60’s Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell sense. The Real New Yorkers dig the differences, the inconveniences, the frustrations.  They know the real deal and have no patience for the bogus, the poseurs, the shriveled heartless husks living in cotton batting.

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We need to winnow out the wannabees.  Here’s a start and, admittedly, it’s quite superficial but, again, it’s a start: do you like blueberry bagels?

If your answer was “yes,” you need to run along now.  Just scoot.  If your answer was “no” — welcome to the blog.  See you soon.