New York 2005 to Miami 2017

I've had the lyrics to this Billy Joel song running through my head during the past few crazy, anarchic days in the City. The song is about the destruction of New York City...and the exodus of the survivors to Miami. The lines in particular that I've been humming:

I've seen the lights go out on Broadway
I watched the mighty skyline fall
The folks were waiting at the Battery
The union went on strike
They never sailed at all
They sent a carrier out from Norfolk
They picked the Yankees up for free
They said the Queens was saved
They blew the Bronx away
They sank Manhattan out at sea

It's been 25 years since the Transit Workers Union went on strike. I have no recollection of that event; I was only 9 years old and I walked to school, unaffected and probably oblivious to the strike. But my parents said they rode their bikes for 11 days to work. Funny how certain memories don't exist for me from childhood. I do remember the day John Lennon died, however, later that same year.

The TWU had been threatening to strike for several weeks since their contract ran out last Friday. They extended the deadline and continued to negotiate with the MTA all weekend and all day Monday into the wee hours, to no avail. We woke up Tuesday morning to discover they had struck. Baby, did they ever bring the City to its knees. Say what you will about New Yorker's resilience and pluck, stoicism and resourcefulness, it was tough going for everyone who commutes, but particularly for those of us who have to cross water to get to work. In our case, getting from Brooklyn into Manhattan was...um...interesting. I stole this image from the New York Times. It's kinda pretty - but it doesn't accurately represent the hordes of Brooklynites who hiked back and forth across the Brooklyn Bridge every morning and every evening since Tuesday. We carpooled and car-serviced our way into the City on Tuesday, but getting home was another matter. We couldn't find a taxi that would take us across the bridge, so we took one to the base of the bridge and then walked across it. It was 32 degrees out. I never thought about the utility of the Red Cross until we encountered them at the Brooklyn side, handing out hot coffee and hot chocolate and cookies. I was ever so grateful to see them. We then walked deeper into Brooklyn until we reached a major intersection (Atlantic Avenue and Smith Street), called a car service which miraculously materialized within 10 minutes, and got home 3 hours after we set out from Manhattan.

Wednesday we again carpooled and taxi-ed our way into Manhattan, and had an early afternoon exit from work so we could leave for Newark Airport in Jersey. Getting to Port Authority to take New Jersey Transit was the hard part for me. Luckily, I left myself enough time (nearly an hour) to get from 92nd and Lex to 42nd and 8th, and found myself taxied by a driver who regaled me, oddly enough in the random way that these things occur, with cooking stories. Johnny Johnson, an African-American from Georgia, told me how he came to New York 30 years ago to work in the Catskill resorts cooking "Jewish food." He then proceeded to explain, in minute and colorful detail, the best recipes for 1) matzah balls and 2) gefilte fish. Thanks to Johnny I was able to forget the stresses of the past few days, and enjoyed my ride (and came away with some good culinary advice.) Got to Port Authority just in time to catch our bus to the airport. Our trip to Texas was the easiest part of our commute this week!

The strike is now over but it remains to be seen what the MTA and TWU will negotiate that will please everyone. The whole experience appears to have been very damaging to the union, sadly. I don't think New Yorkers will soon forgive the massive inconveniences, particularly because of the poor PR job the union did explaining their grievances.

Ah, but it was sort of exciting while it lasted.