New Jersey, New York

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When my friend Chris Alpine and I began planning a visit to New York City I envisioned landing in an exotic sounding airport like La Guardia or JFK. But Chris suggested Newark International Airport as a hub - because Newark is cheaper to fly into. He suggested that we take the New Jersey Transit Authority train from the airport to Penn Station, then the New York subway to lower Manhattan - because it’s much cheaper than a taxi. We’d already agreed to sublet a friend’s apartment - because New York hotels are way too expensive.

But flying into Newark, New Jersey? Isn’t Newark a city populated by people with thick necks, hairy backs and eyebrows? Don’t most of the citizens of Newark exist on a diet of root crops and garlic?

The reality is that Newark is populated mainly by immigrants from Pakistan. The original inhabitants of Newark have all moved to New York City. The shine of the Big Apple has lured them across the Hudson to stake claim to their slice of the Big Apple pie. As for the immigrants from the Pakistan, the industrial wasteland that is Newark probably looks pretty good compared to Lahore.

There is plenty for the tourist to see in New York City - the Empire State Building, Times Square, and the Statue of Liberty. We saw it all. But much of real New York happens below ground in the subway tunnels that web the city– aspiring entertainers singing old Cole Porter tunes and passing the hat, panhandlers telling tales of hard luck and misfortune while shaking plastic cups full of change, the subway rats who seem content to scurry from shadow to shadow searching for bagel crumbs.

Then there was Victor Ramon, Psychic Phenomenon Plus (Extraordinary) or at least that’s what the business card he handed Chris read. He insisted on giving Chris a psychic reading right there at the West 42^nd street subway platform. He wore a battered blue sport coat and gravy stained necktie drawn tightly around his thick neck. He spoke in a heavy New Jersey accent, and paused only briefly to consult the spirits contained in the pint bottle he carried in his hip pocket. The smell of alcohol barely concealed the garlic on his breath.

I’m not sure if Chris received any prophetic messages from beyond. Just the typical stuff you might get from the “Spirits of Fermented Fruit”. When Victor Ramon finished with his reading, he insisted that Chris not pay him for his services since his gift was derived from a higher power. It was a request that Chris was more than happy to honor.

Dale Larsen