Storybook Romance, Part 3: The Fortune Cookie

We’d been dating off and on for over a year. It was New Year’s Eve, 1983 and we had just gotten back together. Back in the fall, I had decided to confront her on the fact that I wanted more from our relationship than it appeared she did. 

I went to her apartment over on East 83rd street and asked her directly: “Tell me, what is it you’re looking for?” She thought for a minute and said: “Someone who is strong but sensitive.” 

While I thought “that’s me,” apparently, she didn’t agree. So, we split up once again. 

Then in late December, through a number of unusual circumstances, we found ourselves once again dating. With it being New Year’s Eve, we did what most New Yorkers do on New Year’s Eve, we went to a movie and then had Chinese food.

As we were finishing up our dinner, the waiter brought us our fortune cookies. She reached for one; I reached for the other.

She opened hers first and it said: “Trust what your heart tells you.” I then opened mine, smiled, and handed it to her. She read it out loud “You are strong but sensitive.” We’ve been married now for 39 years.

Storybook Romance, Part 2: Heinekens, Yankees and Bruce

It was 1982 and we had met at a party in Soho two nights before. She had scribbled her name on a matchbook cover for me as she was leaving with her friends. Now we were meeting for drinks at a Second Avenue bar.

As I listened to her speak, I told myself “You’re going to marry this woman.” I didn’t know why I was feeling this way as I barely knew her. After a few drinks we walked up Second Avenue toward her apartment. When we got there, she invited me up for a nightcap.

Apologizing that she had very little in her refrigerator since she had just moved in, she handed me a Heineken. That was the first good sign because at the time it was my favorite beer. 

She then pointed me toward a closet so I could hang up my jacket while she scrounged up something for us to snack on. As I reached in for a hanger, I saw a Yankees jersey hanging there. “So you’re a Yankees fan?” I asked. “Yeah, you better not be a Mets fan” she replied. “No” I said, “I’ve loved the Yankees since I was two.” A second good sign.

She then suggested I put on some music. I reached into her collection of albums and there in front of me was every Bruce Springsteen album ever made up to that point. As a Jersey boy it was now clear to me why I was going to marry this woman. And two years later, I did.

Now married 39 years, we’re still enjoying many a Heineken together, watching our beloved Yankees, and still listening to Bruce.

Storybook Romance, Part 1: One Hit Wonder

In 1982 I was working at an office job by day and playing in a newly formed punk rock band by night. The previous Saturday the band had met in a Soho loft. We were getting our photos taken for the press kit we hoped would lead to some working gigs. When we wrapped up the photo shoot, the photographer invited us to come back to his loft the following week to play at a party he was hosting. We accepted.

That next week we arrived at the party early, set up our equipment, and then stood around waiting for the guests to arrive and for our time to play. After a couple of hours, the loft filled up. Tired of standing, I found the only open seat left on a couch next to a very attractive woman. We were having a wonderful conversation when a bandmate tapped me on the shoulder to tell me it was time for us to perform. 

As we finished up our set, the woman from the couch told me that she and her friends were leaving but that she had enjoyed speaking with me. I fumbled horribly in trying to find a non-cliched way to ask for her phone number. She then said “wait a minute”. She ran off and came back shortly with her number written on a matchbook cover.

That next day I was on one end of two unforgettable phone calls. The first was the call I received from the singer in the band telling me the group was suddenly breaking up. That was the last band I ever played in, one of dozens that had failed to lead to any lasting success. 

The second more memorable call was the one I made to the lady with the matchbook. It’s now 41 years later and in music parlance I was a “one hit wonder”. That’s because she and I are still together, the only “hit” I ever had in an otherwise uneventful music career, but a fully eventful life. 

The Naked Man

It was late spring, 1970, and the weather was already feeling summer-like. Peace and love were in the air. I had taken the PATH train from Jersey City to Greenwich Village’s 8th Street stop with a classmate from my high school senior class.

Walking past incense-scented head shops and stores filled with tie-dyed clothing, we found people expressing themselves with their hair, their clothes, and their uninhibited behavior. As we approached the Astor Place Cube, my classmate remarked, “You know, you can do anything you want in New York City!”

Just then, we spotted a bearded, long-haired man walking towards us. He was totally naked. My classmate affirmed, “See, you really can do anything you want in New York City.” Within seconds, three NYPD cars rushed in and slammed on their brakes. Two cops jumped out of one car, grabbed the naked man, and tossed him into the back of the squad car. The three cars sped off as quickly as they arrived.

I turned to my classmate and countered, “Well, maybe not anything.”

The Engagement

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. My wife and I were visiting Manhattan, our former hometown. Walking through Central Park, we decided to stop at The Boathouse restaurant for a glass of wine.

As we sat at an outdoor table with our drinks, we couldn’t help but overhear a young couple, both on their cellphones. She: “Yes, he just asked me!” He: “She just said yes!” My wife and I looked at each other, smiled, and simultaneously had the same idea.

We called over the waitress, pointed to the couple, and made a request. A few minutes later, after paying our bill, we stood up to leave. We turned to the young couple and offered them our best wishes. Walking out, we could see the waitress arriving at their table with two congratulatory glasses of champagne.

As we resumed our stroll through the park, we couldn’t help but think that someday the couple might retell the story of their engagement day to their children. And we hoped the story of two strangers and two surprise glasses of champagne would make them all smile.

The Blind Man

It was many years ago. I was in my twenties and working in Manhattan. On occasion, I would notice how blind people would wait at a corner with an arm out so that someone could help them cross the street. Not surprisingly, some kind stranger would take their arm, then help them cross once the light changed. And while I admired this small act of kindness, I always felt too shy to try this myself. 

One day, while standing at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 47th street, a man stood next to me as I waited for the light to change. He was wearing dark sunglasses and was holding a cane. Suddenly, he raised his arm. Being the one standing closest to him, I felt compelled to do what I had always resisted.

Just as the light changed, I grabbed the man’s arm and said, “Okay, we can cross now.” The man tore his arm from my grip, turned to me and said “Let go of me, can’t you see I’m trying to hail a cab?”

It turns out the man was neither blind nor wanted to cross the street. I have never attempted to assist a blind person again since that day.

Lou Reed

I had just picked up a rental car and was driving up West End Avenue in Manhattan. I did this most weekends that particular summer as we had joined a beach club out at Atlantic Beach.

As I headed up West End, I could see a man trying desperately to hail a cab but with no success. He had a suitcase with him so I assumed he was heading out to the airport. As I got closer to the man and could make out his face, I quickly realized it was the singer Lou Reed. Just as I was driving past him, it occurred to me to offer him a lift to wherever he was going. Unfortunately, this thought hit me just seconds too late.

So I quickly made a series of right turns, all the while imagining the great conversation Lou and I would have as we drove out to Kennedy or LaGuardia or even Newark. As I made my fourth right turn back on to West End, I could feel my heart racing with excitement. Would this be the beginning of a great friendship? Or perhaps a fabulous story to tell people for years to come.

I headed back up to where Lou had been standing except…he wasn’t standing there anymore.

Did some other passing driver react more quickly than me? Or did he simply find a taxi?

Years later I still wonder, would Lou have accepted my invitation and gotten into the car? Or would he have thought I was just another New York City wacko?

I like to believe he would have gotten in.