New York has changed. But great cities are always changing – that’s their nature.
I’m a walker – I do a daily 3 mile walk whenever possible. Strolling through New York is a feast for the senses. I’m always noticing new buildings, new people, new languages, new customs, new rhythms, new beats, new songs.
I’ve never understood why people would wish to cut themselves off behind airpods that throb with familiar sounds, while the raw originality of New York’s perennially changing song echoes all around them.
Besides, even in these relatively placid times, it’s important to know exactly who is approaching from behind. Such knowledge could save you a trip to an emergency room.
One thing I do miss about current New York is the lack of celebrities hoofing around town.
Not that I miss celebrities themselves, still the random sight of one can enliven your day.
Then again, I don’t even know who celebrities are nowadays. I’m not on Instagram or X, I don’t worship my phone, or even read Page 6 anymore, how lame is that!
Your modern day celebrity is isolated in a giant black SUV, surrounded by security goons and chugging along at 2mph in this forever clogged city.
I remember back in the 70’s seeing Mick Jagger approach on 57thStreet in the company of 2 other semi-soused Brits, out for a night on the town. And didn’t the same Mick roar out his bedroom window in the Pierre Hotel at my brother, Jimmy, and his waterproofing crew, when they began pointing the Pierre’s hallowed bricks at 7 in the morning.
On a blizzarding day in the early 80’s, I had to step aside on West Broadway to allow Bob Dylan to leap over a pool of sludgy water. At the time I was so enamored of the man I’d have lugged him across that pool on my back.
Part of the problem may be the lack of bars that attract such characters. In the Bells of Hell you wouldn’t turn sideways to look at a celebrity, the joint was so full of them. Within its smoky walls, you could meet everyone from Norman Mailer to Jimmy Breslin, Joey Ramone to Liam Clancy.
And wouldn’t Joe Strummer arrive solo at Paddy Reilly’s in a checker cab to see Black 47 in the 90’s. Aye, and line up outside with everyone else to hail a taxi home at 6 in the morning when Steve Duggan finally tired of pulling pints.
I almost forgot John Gotti blessed my son Jimmy in his stroller as the Teflon Don emerged from the Ravenite Social Club on Mulberry Street.
I guess New York was cooler back then. We all discreetly noted, but ignored, celebrities.
I did pay full attention to Mr. Gotti, however. In fact, I gravely thanked him for the honor he had bestowed on my kid and moved on quickly for fear a mob war might break out. It would have been hard to explain at home.
In case you think I’m name dropping, ask any New Yorker of a certain vintage about their celebrity sightings and your ears will be ringing by the time you break free.
Few will be able to match the night David Bowie bought Pierce Turner and myself a double brandy each in a club called Hurrah on the Upper West Side.
We were performing our then opus magnum, Adoramus, which we were hoping to turn into a concept album. As usual, cash was in short supply and record companies were not breaking down our door.
We had, however, received some glowing write-ups about the project and had drawn a big crowd. I remember little of the actual gig except we were called back for an encore. As we took the stage someone yelled out, “Suffragette City!”
Being a smartass I replied, “David couldn’t make it tonight but send up a double brandy and we’ll see what we can do.” And with that we broke into our tried and true treatment of the Bowie standard.
Alas, we received no offers to record Adoramus. But as we were packing our gear, a waiter arrived with 2 large brandies on a silver tray and the message that “Mr. Bowie thoroughly enjoyed Adoramus and your very original version of his song.”
Ah, those were the days when celebrities cruised New York in yellow cabs - and even bought their round.
