A bus passenger’s presence is felt, taking a roundabout way home and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Pale Blue Chiffon
Dear Diary:
I was on the 86th Street crosstown bus going westbound late in the afternoon one day years ago. A female passenger got on at Madison Avenue.
“May I have a transfer please?” she asked the driver. Her voice was distinctive and it projected down the aisle, causing what seemed like every head to pop up.
She was a vision of femininity in pale blue chiffon, with a large hat, a belted dress, gloves, heels and pocketbook.
As she walked down the aisle people began to clap, then to stand and cheer, until she took a seat.
It was Butterfly McQueen.
— Pat Outland
Waiting
Dear Diary:
I was on my way back from a run in Central Park and I decided to take a roundabout way home. Meandering down Madison Avenue, I was intrigued to see a small line of people waiting at a corner.
I walked over to find out what they were waiting for so patiently, and I saw that they were outside a small bookstore. Looking over all of the covers in the window, I longed to go inside too.
After waiting for a while, I was allowed in and I spent a glorious half-hour examining as many of the spines and reading as many of the backs of books as I could. I chose a few to buy and bring home as newly prized possessions.
When I went to check out, I saw the old cash register, which was shaped sort of like a typewriter. A feeling of déjà vu washed over me, but I brushed it away.
When I got home and inspected my purchases, a bookmark fell out of one of them: the Corner Bookstore.
I went to my bookshelf, where I knew I’d find the very same bookmark, but a version that was crumpled and worn from five years of use.
I had stumbled on that store once before: When I first moved to New York and was having a tough day. I’d wandered in out of the blue, and I had left feeling refreshed then as well.
— Katie Perkowski
Window Gazing
Dear Diary:
My daily workout for a while now has been a brisk three-mile walk around the Upper West Side at 7 a.m.
One of the many great things about New York City is that you can get a glimpse into people’s lives by looking at their windows.
It makes you think about who they are and what they do. In my mind, all of these people are my neighbors and my friends and I feel like we are all in this together.
One of my favorite apartments is on West End Avenue because it is on the ground floor and has so many windows. Some mornings there is a cat in one of the windows; at other times, I can see people moving around inside.
During the holidays, a Christmas tree had been put up in the apartment. I loved seeing it every morning as I passed by. One morning when I walked past and looked at the windows, I saw a man standing there.
He was waving at me.
— Sarah Maurer
Sledding
Dear Diary:
It was Dec. 16, 2020, and the biggest snowstorm in several years was beginning to blanket New York City. Our daughters were slightly upset because we did not own a sled.
My husband set out on foot to remedy the situation, but he soon came back empty-handed. The Upper West Side shops were all out of sleds. Undeterred, my 11-year-old prayed for divine intervention.
So late that night, we were in Riverside Park near the Hippo Playground, trying to slide down the hill on flattened Amazon boxes.
A family approached us.
“Do you girls want to use our toboggan?” the father asked.
After making a couple of runs down the hill, my daughters went to return the sled.
“Oh, you can keep it,” the father said. “I brought it here to give away.”
— Lydia S. Dugdale
At Bergdorf’s
Dear Diary:
When I was a child growing up on Long Island in the 1960s, my mother often took my sister and me into Manhattan on Saturdays to shop.
Once, when I was about 8, we were alone in an elevator at Bergdorf Goodman. The elevator stopped, and a well-dressed older woman got on.
My mother leaned down.
“Cliff,” she whispered in my ear, “I think that’s Gloria Swanson.”
The elevator continued up a few floors in silence. As my mother and I got off, the woman turned to us and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Yes it is, isn’t it?” she said, just as the door closed.
— Clifford Michaelson
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
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