C&C 56: A Little Give and Take on the Hudson River Line

Notes on a whirlwind jaunt to New York

Believe me, I know the futility of publishing a newsletter on Election Day in the US. But it’s gonna be a long day, and I thought the distraction might be welcome. And distraction is essentially the subject of this edition.

We would have attended our niece’s wedding no matter what, but when the bride-to-be observed that the nuptials would take place just before the election, Rosemarie and I cleared our calendars. The festivities in Jersey City would allow us to tack on a few days across the river in our shared birthplace; I’ve lived in Seattle for decades but still consider myself a New Yorker, albeit one with a long, tortuously slow commute. The visit home would be coming at exactly the right time, offering a chance to disconnect from the news and concentrate on what was right in front of me.

The view from Jersey City

The ceremony was a delight; if you’re going to tie the knot, do it in a place with stunning views of Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty, ideally on a fall day with summerlike weather. After a few days of catching up with family and exploring the abundant charms of Jersey City, we decamped for Manhattan and the smallest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. We quickly came to think of it as cozy, and it was ideally situated for everything we wanted to do. Besides, who comes to New York to sit in their hotel? It’s not like I was going to be fixated on the World Series, the Mets’ magical run having ended in the NLCS¹. Here’s how we made the most of our time in the big town.

This was supposed to be a shot of the Birdland bandstand with the Nighthawks in full swing. I still like how it came out.

Double down on what you love. Fortuitous timing allowed us to catch our friend Ethan Iverson in a powerhouse trio set at Birdland, alongside drum legend Peter Erskine, in from the West Coast, and bassist supreme Peter Washington. Ethan’s latest album Playfair Sonatas is out on November 15. We were back at Birdland two days later to fulfill a promise to ourselves to see Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks live. The 11-piece band, specialists in 1920 and ‘30s jazz, has provided music for films by Woody Allen and Martin Scorsese; Giordano appears in The Aviator (2004) and Killers of the Flower Moon (2023). He’s the focus of the 2016 documentary Vince Giordano: There’s a Future in the Past, chronicling his single-minded dedication to preserving a bygone style of music and the challenges of running a society band in the 21^st century. His campaign is succeeding; the club was packed for the late set, the people near us hailing from Northern Ireland, Australia, Germany, and Japan. The show kicked off with a rousing rendition of the Universal Pictures fanfare, prompting Rosemarie to levitate out of her seat with joy. The next ninety minutes passed in a blur. Afterward, Giordano didn’t stop working, greeting everyone who lingered (including us) and spreading the gospel of seeing live music—and bringing younger audiences while you’re at it. The documentary is currently available on Amazon, and the band plays two Birdland shows every Monday night at 5:30 and 8:30.

Always a stunning view outside Grand Central Terminal, but I appreciate it anew now.

Tour someplace you think you know. On a previous trip, Rosemarie signed us up for a tour of one of her favorite buildings in the world, Radio City Music Hall. (You get your photo taken with an actual Rockette!) This time, we explored Grand Central Terminal in the company of a knowledgeable guide. We learned about the artwork hiding in plain sight, the significance of a tiny black rectangle on the zodiac mural on the main concourse’s ceiling, and the mystery of the missing eagles. There was also talk of the many movies shot in GCT, from North by Northwest (1959) to John Wick: Chapter 3 (2019)². Renee Patrick felt a thrill when we stepped onto the platform for Track 34, from which the fabled 20th Century Limited would depart for Chicago every day³. The signature floor covering rolled out for the passengers before each trip is believed to be the origin of the term “red-carpet treatment.” I won’t breeze through the place—or call it Grand Central Station—ever again.

I never take photographs in museums, and if you pose in front of a work of art I will walk through your picture. But I couldn’t resist this shadow in the Siena exhibit.

Admit when something isn’t your bag. The New York Times declared that Siena: The Rise of Painting 1300-1350, currently at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is “the art show of the season,” so off we went. Much as I hate flaunting my Philistine side, the exhibition didn’t bowl me over. That’s partly because a lot of context is required to understand the significance of the artwork; had I not read several reviews first, I would have been at a loss. It’s mainly because 14^th-century Italian devotional art is not exactly my thing. In his rave for The New Yorker, Jackson Arn writes that the Sienese school didn’t do well by the human face. I’ll agree. All the saints looked like gangsters, while too many of the Baby Jesuses resembled Christopher Hitchens, giant heads swollen with knowledge destined to blow your tiny mind. I didn’t dawdle, moving onto the Met’s other treasures. But viewing dozens of pieces over seven centuries old assembled in an intentional way did make an impact. I’m still thinking about the show, and I’m glad I saw it.

We spent a morning exploring Little Island at Pier 55, which looks like it was designed by Dr. Seuss and is inhabited by hobbits.

Pick a temporary local. I like to choose a bar near where I’m staying for my pre-funk/nightcap needs. Said establishment on this trip was the inviting Chelsea tropical cocktail den Jungle Bird. Their take on their namesake drink was, as expected, first-rate, one of the best I’ve had. I also recommend the Coconut Tree (Lost Explorer 8-year Espadín Mezcal, Campari, Planteray Coconut Rum, Meletti Amaro, Cantera Negra Café Liquor) and the Purple Rain, with ingredients including Pollinator Beespoke Gin, Ume Plum Liqueur, and Giffard Lychee Liqueur.

Listen. I loathe the idea of sounding like Thomas Friedman, the too-long-in-harness Times columnist who coasted for years passing along specious wisdom ostensibly gleaned from cab drivers. But our Uber to Newark Airport was driven by an immigrant from Georgia (the country, not the state), who regaled us with tales of his pilgrimages to the homes of his favorite American writers like Hemingway, Poe, and Twain. I flew back and cast my ballot with his story fresh in my mind.

1. I assumed I was rooting for the Yankees, given the number of friends and family who pull for the pinstripes. But when Freddie Freeman hit his walk-off grand slam in Game 1, I discovered the bitter truth: I wanted the Dodgers to win decisively, so I could spend the offseason pointing out to those same Yankee fans that the Mets had outplayed their team against LA. And lo, it came to pass. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

2. Three films that I would have included: The House on Carroll Street (1988), a middling blacklist thriller that ends with a Hitchcock-style chase across the catwalks above the mural; The Fisher King (1991), with the concourse briefly and miraculously transformed into a ballroom; and Carlito’s Way (1993) for obvious reasons, even though Carlito would have caught a train to Florida from Penn Station.

3. There’s a movie Renee would have mentioned: Twentieth Century (1934), a Howard Hawks comedy set almost entirely on the train, based on a Hecht/MacArthur play that later became a musical.