While rock ‘n roll has an endless supply of ballads about lost love, “The Boys of Summer” still stands out decades after its release. The tale is one of a young man reflecting on a former girlfriend. She has moved on to a series of summertime flings with those eponymous boys. The question for him is, does he wait out the long game and try again with her? But a verse warns, “Don't look back, you can never look back.” The meaning is clear—move on with your life.
I sympathize. It’s how I
feel about New York City.
A
friend compared my (and my wife’s) leaving New York City on par with moving the
Empire State Building out of town. While amusingly dramatic, there was always
an assumption that I would live in the city. Out-of-town friends simply dropped
me a line when they were visiting to iron out the details, not wonder if I were
around. There’s a couple that lives two blocks from us, each of them lifelong
New Yorkers and now parents to an adorable toddler. We see each other so often
that our respective doormen don’t even bother to call and announce us when we
visit. The couple joked that since we were leaving, they had no reason to stay
in town. The punch line is that they are closing on a house in Connecticut in
two weeks.
My
fervent wish is to declare that leaving New York is the toughest thing I have
ever done. The fact that it isn’t is what hurts the most. Even worse, none of our
friends in town seemed to try to talk us out of it. They’ve been beaten down
into envy for those fleeing.
The
story of New York’s urban decay starts in the late ‘60s and explodes after the ’77
blackout. And while the ‘80s Wall Street boom brought in plenty of money,
crack, crime, and the lack of any governmental action drove the city to the
brink of destruction. Not until Rudy Giuliani took over in ’94 was there even
hope. That’s a span of 17 years, which means things might be looking up in 2039
when I will be a spry 75.
At
the end of the day, New York just isn’t New York anymore. Sure, there’s the old
joke that New York would be great if they ever finished building it; and sure,
change is a constant in the city. The city needs new blood, new ideas, and new buildings,
otherwise the city just languishes. It’s what has made it the magnet for people
around the world to come and try to make their mark. Learning to navigate the
chaos and confusion is what makes living in the city so great.
But
now the city is just a static, immovable object. A crime-ridden, public urinal
of concrete immovable object. This manifests itself across the street, as a
block-long parcel, owned by one of the city’s smartest and most respected
developers, lies fallow—a mix of demolition and empty walkups caught up in the stifling
bureaucracy of tax incentives, building codes, and zoning regulations. Eight
blocks south another demolished block-long lot, owned by the same developer, sits
in its own purgatory. This has been going on for nearly four years. When you
are worried about trying to make money building apartments on the Upper East
Side of Manhattan, you worry about the whole city.
Of
course with new state and city leadership should come hope. But in this case
hope is not a strategy. The governor continues to pound away at businesses with
yet more Covid restrictions, while the city, breathing freer from the wrath of
De Blasio, is pummeled by the same imperial attitude from its new Mayor. The
fact the two have pledged to work together is a warning akin to firing flares
from the Titanic. Their view is to repeat the doomed policy of government being
the solution. Government “letting” businesses be open at their whim and fancy,
and under the most onerous of regulations.
Try
going to a Broadway show. No really, try. You can’t because a cast member
tested positive for Covid and they shut whole the production down. Of course
you could try the one or two open shows, that is if you have been vaccinated,
can prove it, and then wear a mask. This soul-crushing plan for economic
revival didn’t work before, yet somehow these so-called leaders think it will
magically work now. If you want outdoor entertainment, the hookers, shakedown
artist cartoon characters, and drug dealers have returned in full force to Times
Square. 2039 might be a generous target for a recovery.
Last
Thursday our flight taxied onto LaGuardia’s runway 13, engines revving to full
power and lifting us into the late afternoon sky. The flight path takes you
over Citi Field, just slightly higher than a Mets popup. After a sharp turn south,
you can crane your neck back and see the skyscrapers of Manhattan. Except I
couldn’t look back. I could never look back. I let go of that love, looking to
move on with my life.
© 2022 Alexander W. Stephens, All Rights Reserved.
