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Provincialism: New York story

Posted by keithosaunders on May 13, 2011

…so I packed up and moved to New York.  It turned out it was just like I pictured it – skyscrapers and everything!  I found an apartment on the Upper West Side, started exploring the city, began meeting musicians, and eventually began to gig.

It was great.  I liked the city and contrary to what I had been told, I found that people were friendly and welcoming.  There was just one problem:  They hated Californians.  Let me rephrase that, as hate is too strong a word.  They looked down on Californians.  They joked about, ridiculed, and were generally unpleasent towards people of the west coast persuasion.  Californians were too laid back, flaky, vain, and above all, didn’t swing. (the unkindest cut of all for a jazz musician) 

My Great Aunt Ellie was like a grandmother to me.  She and my Uncle Herb took me under their wing, taught me how to play bridge, showed me Coney Island, Flatbush, and Sheepshead Bay.  For someone such as myself, who had grown up without grandparents, it was invaluable to have this window into what my family history looked like. 

 Every Sunday I would watch the Mets game (or whatever sport happened to be in season) at Ellie and Herb’s apartment in downtown Brooklyn, feasting on Herb’s renowned tuna salad for lunch, and take out from Su Su’s Yum Yum, their local chinese restaurant, for dinner. 

One day we watching the Mets play the Dodgers from Los Angeles.  For those of you not familiar with Dodger Stadium, just beyond the right field bleachers there are a group of palm trees which are visible from certain camera angles.  Midway through the game, apropos of nothing, Ellie remarked, “Those palm trees look dusty.” 

I knew Ellie hated California, but this was too much.  The palm trees looked dusty?!  What hope did I have of ever fitting in with my adopted city if even my own Aunt, who I loved dearly, could not accept California?  And who insluts palm trees?!

The thing is, there is a grain of truth in New Yorker’s feelings about the west coast.  There is a certain vanity out west, as well as a complacency.  What I could never understand, however, was how people could feel free to bash  California in front of someone who was from there.  It was as if my being in New York meant that I had rejected the west coast, and thus would be receptive and understanding of the insults. 

Even within the city there exists a kind of micro-provincialism.  Manhattanites think that the boundaries of New York end at the periphery of their 13 mile long, and 2.3 mile wide island.  Anyone with a 718 area code knows what it’s like to be condescended to by the proud owner of a 212 code.     

It took me a long time to get used to it, but eventually I did.  It was remarkable how universally scorned California was.  I saw this as a shortcoming of New Yorkers.  New York is the greatest city in the world.  Why bother insulting other places when it’s a moot point?  

But I have to admit – I was guilty of it myself.  The longer I lived in New York, the more it felt like home to me.  Truth be told, I would occasionally insult California too.  Once in a while.  

Next post I’ll come full circle with San Francisco provincialism.  Then we’ll go over weights and measures.

Posted in New York City | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Provincialism

Posted by keithosaunders on May 11, 2011

I grew up in Los Angeles in the San Fernando Valley in a town called Van Nuys.  When I lived in L.A. I thought it was a the center of the world.  I thought it was a glamorous place full of hip movie stars, and great musicians. 

As I got into my teen years and was exposed to, and began playing jazz, I began to wonder about the wider world, in particular, New York City.  Both of my parents grew up in New York.  My father had great memories of his childhood there, and he vividly described what it was like to grow up in New York during the pre and post World War II era.

I got into my late teens and began hanging out with the great drummer, Dick Berk.  He had lived in New York in the early ’60s, and he would spend hours regaling me with stories of all the great musicians he had hung out with and played with.    

New York was like a mythical place to me, filled with jazz clubs, great sports teams, colorful characters, jazz musicians, and places to hang out until all hours to the night.  What could be better?

There was one problem.  Almost everyone else I talked to hated New York.  I was told, in no uncertain terms, that it was a crime-ridden, rat-infested, over-priced hell-whole, and that I should have my head examined for wanting to live there.  When you recall some of the films of the 1970s — The Out of Towners, Taxi Driver, and Mean Streets — you can see why it had a bad reputation.  Of course, most of the people I knew had never been to New York, but that didn’t stop them from badmouthing it.

Furthermore, they told me, the people were rude, unfriendly, and unwelcoming.  When I responded that I wanted to experience the greatest jazz scene in the world, I was told to grow up — that there was no future in jazz.

To be continued…

Posted in jazz, New York City | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

New York calling

Posted by keithosaunders on March 4, 2011

And now for a little palette cleanser.  Think of this post as a sorbet.

Earlier this week I was going about my business when my cell phone rang.  I could see from the LCD screen that it was a good friend calling from New York City. 

I answered with a hearty “Hello!”

But my friend did not respond.  I could hear the sound of boots clomping on hardened snow, and soon I heard what sounded like the roar of an approaching subway train.  Moments later I heard the unmistakable chime that the subway doors emit when they open –  and presently the closing chime.  That’s when the phone call cut off. 

Obviously my friend must have unknowingly pressed a button on the cell, calling me by mistake.  The effect was as if the city of New York itself called me — mocking me.  While I’m out here in the perennially sunny, 60 degree winter weather of California, hearty people are enduring real winters.  These are the folks that are worthy of spring.  They have earned the right to a few weeks of mild weather before the oppressive heat of summer.

“Come back, you fool,” the phone call seemed to say.  “Before it’s too late…”  

 

Posted in New York City | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Home

Posted by keithosaunders on January 6, 2011

How strange it is for me to associate home with the Bay Area but that is indeed the case.  This afternoon I flew home to the west coast for the first time in 27 years.  The trip to New York was a good one, both work-wise and personally.  I got to spend some great time with my friend Jeff in the Bronx as well as see other friends and former colleagues. 

It’s bittersweet, however, as I return to a life bereft of gigs.  In New York I was working three to five nights a week as well as teaching.  Here I have had to start from square one in a jazz scene that is not as busy as New York’s.  It is daunting to say the least.  Still I look forward to the few gigs I have, as well as getting back into hanging out and meeting new people.     

I have to say that San Francisco kicks ass when it comes to airport transportation.  It’s a quick walk through the terminal to the elevated air train.  From there it’s a five-minute ride to the BART station which gets me to within two miles of my home.  In New York you have a choice between a 40 dollar cab ride, for which you’re going to have to wait on a long line, or an air train that takes you to a subway station in Jamaica Queens.  It’s confusing, cumbersome, and unpleasant. 

So put that in your crack pipe and smoke it, New York!

Posted in New York City, San Francisco | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

You can’t go home again: Part 2

Posted by keithosaunders on January 1, 2011

One month ago, at Thanksgiving, I visited my father in Las Vegas.   On the way there I spent a night in Los Angeles seeing some old friends.  I couldn’t resist a chance to peek at the house in Van Nuys where I grew up.  The house was painted a different color, was a little worse for wear, but for the most part was as I remembered it.  But there was something otherworldly about looking at a place that was so familiar, yet not mine.

Here it is, a month later and I find myself in New York City — my first time back since moving to Berkeley five months ago.  I stepped off the subway at 47th st/Rockefeller Center and I wasn’t prepared for the emotion that hit me — anger.  Anger that from now on my status in New York will forever be that of a cameo.  Everything here seems the same, but like my experience with my childhood house, it seems alien to me.  New York is slightly out of focus;  it is no longer my town. 

My gig was great.  I played at a restaurant called Per Se with my good friend and favorite bassist, Bim Strasberg, and a fine singer, Hillary Gardner.   The gig was long, but good.  There was a nice Steinway there and we had a beautiful dinner.

Looking east on 59th street from the Time Warner Center

 Afterwards I went down to Small’s in the village for their after hours party.  I had a great time sitting in and I saw some old friends there.  I stayed for a few hours, stumbled onto the street and into the subway.  I rode all the way to the end of the line on the 6 train up to the Bronx.  After walking halfway up the ramp to the Bruckner Expressway I was able to reverse course and find my way to my friend’s house.   I went to bed a seven AM.

The great Richie Vitale at Smalls

 

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Escape to New York

Posted by keithosaunders on December 30, 2010

I’m writing this from the Jet Blue terminal at LAX where I am laying over enroute to New York City to do my New Years gig. The day began at 4:20 AM in Kona, Hawaii, and, if I’m lucky, will terminate sometime tomorrow morning at JFK where my best friend (and occasional guest blogger) Jeff will meet me.

Travelling to and from the east coast during the winter months is a risky proposition at best. The blizzard of 2010 has given new meaning to the word crapshoot. Right now my flight is delayed 90 minutes but I would gladly sign for eight hours if it would put me in NYC in time for my gig.

In Hawaii I was blissfully unaware of the ongoing chaos in airports throughout the country. People are waiting as much as several days for their return flights to New York. Last night I was at a bar in Kona. The bartender, upon hearing I was going to New York subjected me to a healthy and enlightening dose of CNN and the Weather Channel. Suffice it to say that it put the fear of God in me.

Posted in New York City | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

April 10th, 1984-August 7th, 2010

Posted by keithosaunders on August 8, 2010

Keitho has left the building.  On Saturday, after a week of heartfelt goodbyes, going away parties, and more tears than a Terms of Endearment 30th year anniversary revival, we have left New York City.  I was glad that my last memory was of the Northern Blvd Best Buy — it will lessen the nostalgia.  Around 2:30 PM we crossed the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey thus concluding my life in New York City.

I remember my first night in New York some 26 years ago.  I stayed with my cousin who had an apartment at the Esplinade Hotel on West End Ave and 74th st.  It was a cold, rainy night, and I was holed up in his bedroom.  He was working late so I was by myself, or so I thought. 

 I had this clock radio that a neighbor had given me as a going away present.  It still works — we keep it in our upstate house.  I turned the radio on and tuned to a Rangers-Islanders playoff game.  Not that I gave a rats ass about hockey in those days, but I was so excited to be in New York that I would have listened to Ed Koch reciting the Gettysburg Address had it been on.  (I should note that these days I have a much greater appreciation of hockey and intend to root on my San Jose Sharks….doesn anyone even know the way to San Jose?)

So I’m listening to this game and it’s the second overtime.  All of a sudden the Islanders scored to win the game and  I heard this blood curdling scream emanating from the adjacent bedroom.  I can’t begin to describe the agony and utter despair that was contained in that five second outburst, but suffice it to say that I had never heard anything like it.  It was like a dying wildebeest going though heroin withdrawal while giving birth to twins.

I smiled and thought, “Now, I’m in New York!”

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Four more days

Posted by keithosaunders on August 3, 2010

There’s very little time left for me in New York City before moving to the Bay Area.  On the outside I am calm but inside is a different story.  Almost everywhere I go is for the last time — every friend and acquaintance that I see is someone I may never see again.  I have no words that are profound enough for goodbye so I just give them an extra hug.  Tears come at strange times — almost never around people.  I just hold it in.  Bottle it up.

This morning I decided at the spur of the moment to go to the Jewish cemetary in Ridgewood, Queens to visit my grandfather and grandmother, my father’s parents.  I never knew either of them — they both passed away early in life due to heart disease.  Before going I called my father asking him for some details on how to locate the graves.  He said “Don’t tell my Dad that I no longer root for the Dodgers.” 

 I took my two younger children, and thanks to a helpful cemetary worker we were able to locate the plots.  Somehow seeing these two graves made me feel connected to an earlier New York — the New York of my father’s childhood.  He grew up in Brooklyn and Queens, and in 1964 took his family west to California where there was more work and an easier lifestyle.  Standing in that cemetary with my son and daughter, thinking of my Dad and his parents, I realized that except for the 20 years between 1964 and 1984, my family has been represented here since the beginning of the 20th century. 

Somehow it felt right to be in a cemetary during my final week, thinking about the past, while nervously looking ahead to the future.  People of that generation, for the most part, lived their entire lives in their home town.  Starting with my Dad’s generation that began to change.  I should feel lucky that I’ve been able to live here as long as I did.  New York is not an easy place to move to, but it’s an even harder place to move away from.

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Play me, I’m Yours

Posted by keithosaunders on July 2, 2010

A few weeks ago Bkivey asked me what I think of the art installation which has brought 60 pianos to public spaces in New York City.   The pianos, painted in bold colors, are surprisingly inviting – they practically scream out, “PLAY ME!”   

The timing of Bkivey’s request involved a two-part coincidence.  I had arrived home from a gig with a bass player friend of mine, Bim Strasberg, who had just been telling me of the art exhibit.  THis was the first I’d heard of it.  Bim had mixed feelings.  He liked the idea of the pianos being there but wasn’t thrilled with the idea of people walking by and banging on it. 

Part two of the coincidence took place a few hours later in the evening when I was taking my dog for her late-night walk.  Our route takes us by Gantry Park, which is a waterfront park on the Queens side of the East River overlooking the east side of Manhattan.  As we were walking by the park I noticed one of the pianos in the plaza.

It was an old Spinet, barely in tune with a thin tone.  It was missing a hammer on the D an octave above middle C.  You can imagine what the outside elements , especially being next to a body of water, does to a piano.  It had a plastic tarp to protect it from the elements but the tarp had been thrown, or blown onto the ground. 

This was right up my alley!  Nobody can play an out of tune, rickety old piano like me.  You have to be able to deal with these warhorses if you are going to be a jazz pianist in New York.  I have just described the condition of 70% of the pianos in jazz clubs.

And wouldn’t you know it but  I couldn’t resist sitting down and playing a few tunes.  How often was I going to be able to play music with the Manhattan skyline as my backdrop?  It was a warm, balmy night and even though it was already one in the morning there were still a few people out and about.  One couple was dancing and another sat a few feet behind me making out. 

 Before I knew it a half hour had passed and I decided to stop.  I sat down a few feet from the piano and watched as others passed by and took her for a spin.  In the day time the Gantry Park piano is hardly ever vacant.  People are drawn to it like investment bankers to a Yankee game.  There is something cathartic about the instrument being available for all, to play or to listen to.  Sure it receives its fair share of abuse, but that cacophony of the pounding blends in just fine with the urban landscape.  It’s OK….in moderation.

Posted in music, New York City | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

A salute to New York drivers.

Posted by keithosaunders on June 22, 2010

I was driving home from my gig last Friday, a birthday party which was held at the Four Seasons restaurant on the east side of Manhattan.  The bass player was with me, and as I was pulling onto the 59th st Bridge all of a sudden a cab cut directly in front of me from the right.  I couldn’t move to the left hand lane since there was a car directly to my side.  I had to brake, swerve, and accelerate, all within the span of a second.  The bass player calmly noted “You’ve got your New York chops.” 

The truth is that maneuvers such as this happen every time you drive in New York.  We don’t look at it as a big deal.  It’s reality.  When I’m driving downtown on 7th Ave I expect the cab on my right to dart in front of me to pick up that fair.  He, in turn expects me to squeeze in front of him in because my lane is ending due to construction.  He’s looking out for me, I’m looking out for him.  No big deal.  Sure, sometimes we have close calls.  That’s what the horn is for.  We use it liberally. 

I haven’t yet moved to the Bay Area (still seven weeks to go) but my wife and I recently spent a weekend there looking for homes.  During that time I had my re-introduction to west coast  driving, and let me tell you, I do not have my California chops yet.   

In New York when I want to change lanes, one of two things occurs.  Either the person to my left speeds up and passes me, or he slows down and lets me in.  Either way is fine with me.  I just want to change the damn lane.  In Cali the drivers jealousy guard their lane.  They will not budge one inch and I found myself having to force the issue by squeezing in.  inevitably they would become upset and shoot me a scowl or give me the finger.  Apparently one must plan for his lane changes well in advance.

The other thing that bothered me about the driving habits out there was how often the light would change and the driver would not notice.  And you don’t honk there — it’s simply not done!  So you just sit and stew waiting for the driver to wake up.  Here in New York we would be all over the horn.  “Cmon!  Move it!”  The driver at the light might respond with a hearty “Aw, blow it out your ass!”   But you know what?  It works.  In the end everyone is happy — no bottled up aggression here.

Just this morning I witnessed an all-time classic New York driving move.  It was executed by my wife’s 91-year-old great-uncle Ralph.  I drove my mother in law and her friend up to Ralph’s place in the Bronx where he was waiting to drive the three of them up to another friend’s house in Westchester.  I pulled over alongside the curb, and I don’t know why, but Ralph pulled his car out of his driveway facing the wrong way.  He was pulled over a few feet from my car but he was facing the oncoming traffic!  How did he do it?  Why  did he do it?!  These are mysteries better left for the ages, but I’ll tell you this:   I tip my cap to Uncle Ralph.  He executed the move perfectly, with confidence and conviction.  I couldn’t have pulled it off.  It takes a native New Yorker to have the wherewithal and the moxie.  Take that, California!

[Ralph's car is facing the white SUV.]

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