Mayor Koch is dead. He lived a good long life and all Real New Yorkers have their own favorite mental picture of him.
- Here’s Koch at a subway station, asking, “How’m I doin’?”
- Here’s Koch eating Chinese food, egg rolls and ribs
- Here’s Koch on the Lex, holding court with rush hour riders
- Here’s Koch on a camel, someplace in Egypt
- Here’s Koch in the St. Paddy’s parade, in a white sweater, trying to blow into a bag pipe
Koch was mayor when New York was physical abusive to its inhabitants. It was half-broke, the infrastructure crumbling. It was dangerous. The schools sucked. The cops were corrupt. Our city was an internationally renowned butt-of-jokes.
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And yet…why do I miss THAT New York and why am I so cool to today’s sleek, affluent, user-friendly version?
Why do I miss an elected official who, when asked about crime, spat back, “It stinks!”
Why do I miss a Mayor who was an unabashed ball breaker, who deserved a good slap in the face from time to time? Why?
Because HE CAME FROM US. He was not a billionaire. He was not a slick guy. He was an up from the streets, sharp-elbow, irascible rogue.
For all the vitriol, we loved Mayor Koch. And he loved us right back.
You lived a good long life dude. Now go raise hell in Heaven’s Hunan Kitchen.