The Newtown Pentacle

Tuesday

– photo by Mitch Waxman

After transmuting from upstate to midtown Manhattan via the MTA’s Metro North operation, your humble narrator then negotiated his way to the 42nd street 7 Line station.

Now, you may be wondering: Hey Mitch, what with that broken ankle PTSD that pops up when you’re descending steps, that you are constantly mentioning and complaining about, how was it negotiating the subway system with all of those flights of stairs?

The answer is ‘wasn’t all that simple.’ I was the slow moving old guy on the stairs, the one whose hand was floating a half inch over the bannister and carefully working his way down at his own speed.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

The PTSD mishegoss is retreating, due to all of the exposure I’ve been inflicting on myself back in Pittsburgh with its ‘City Steps.’ Saying all that, it’s still there, and it sucks. There’s a background ‘gotta be careful here’ thought pattern as I approach the top of a flight of stairs, but it’s almost always the initial ‘top’ of the steps where my brain starts firing bolts of panic. Badly broke my ankle on a set of steps at home, of all places, and ever since this has been a bit of a ‘thing’ for me whenever I’m confronted with stairs. Bah!

At any rate, the 7 carried me where I was going in air conditioned comfort. It was going to be a super hot and humid day, weather wise. In fact, the rest of my time in NYC was going to be defined by ‘swamp ass’ humidity and high temperatures.

My grandmother always used to tell me that we were put of this earth to suffer.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Hunters Point, in Queens’ Long Island City. I sort of expected some thunder or something when I stepped onto the sidewalk, but it was actually sort of anti climactic. This is one of the places I was thinking about while sitting in that wheelchair at the end of last year.

I had arranged with my pals at Newtown Creek Alliance to meet up with a couple of the ‘new guys,’ and take a walk with them.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Long Island Railroad’s Hunters Point yard has been getting upgraded with a flood wall while I was gone. With the alterations to this spot they’ve operated out of since 1868, this wall would count as version 10 of the station, in my eyes. Once upon a time, there was a giant steel and glass train station here which fed into a ferry terminal, a structure reminiscent of the sort of station sheds you see in Europe. There was a railroad turntable… they had all the toys. Nowadays, MTA is trying to figure out the finances for decking this rail yard over so that yet another condo tower can be built on top of it.

Regarding the title of today’s post, it’s a part of my ‘bluster’ from the Newtown Creek years. When interviewed by press people and asked about how I found myself studying the creek, I’d offer: Desolate, disabused, discarded… soon, like every other piece of wind blown trash in NYC, I ended up at the Newtown Creek. I’d often get a raised eyebrow from any politicians in the room when saying this phrase.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Inhuman. That’s what I always say to myself when I see these sorts of structures. Anti-democratic, as well. I don’t mean the political party.

The very nature of this sort of residential setup divides people into ‘haves’ and ‘have not’s.’ Twenty to thirty years in the future will prove me out on the consequences of this development philosophy. Same thing applies to Manhattan’s Abomination Hudson Yards. Bah!

It was already quite warm and humid out. Luckily, before leaving Cold Spring upstate, I ate a very solid breakfast and inhaled about a gallon of coffee and water. The ankle was a bit ornery from the efforts of the prior day, but holding up to the mission. No pain, at all.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Finally. It had been nine months almost to the day since I tumbled down a set of steps in my house in Pittsburgh, busted my ankle and also dislocated my left foot.

Hospitalization, surgery, two months in a wheelchair, endless months of physical therapy and omnipresent pain, months and months of walking up and down hills in Pittsburgh to get my strength back… and there it was: Newtown Creek sitting right in front of me.

Tingles, I tell you, I felt tingles. The ankle story was actually ending. I had finally made it through this crucible.

Truth be told, a clap of thunder would really have been appreciated as I approached her, but that’s just me wishing for theatrics.

Back tomorrow.

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