by Lil Cromer
Milwaukee is an old city with lots of history. It’s also the beer-drinking capital of the country. I spent the better part of a week there visiting my only nephew, Brandon. I managed to book a hotel right next door to his downtown apartment. The Art Museum is an outstanding work of architecture by a Spaniard named Santiago Calatrava. The structure looks like a giant sail boat — there are no linear lines, all are curved. The ceiling opens up and resembles a white stealth bomber. A China exhibit was there for the summer and outstanding.
This from the you-can’t-make this-up-category. While in downtown Milwaukee I stopped in the Visitor’s Center. An employee noticed my St. Maarten tote bag and went on a ten minute cruiselogue. Her speech impediment made it difficult to understand while she went on about cruising with her mother since her dad died of lung cancer caused by Agent Orange and how she was going to school to learn medical bill coding yada, yada, yada. I had to drag her back to the reason I stopped in and that was info about the city.
Read in a local paper that a fifty something guy was arrested twice for screwing a horse, first time a pony the second time a thoroughbred.
Sitting in a pub in Milwaukee I met a couple of dairy farmers, Kathy and Jesse from Green Bay. When I asked what they were doing in the city Jesse said it was Kathy’s birthday and they were there for INI. When I asked what that meant he said, “Inebriation and Intercourse!”
Jokes: A doctor said to his new Asian patient, “You have a cataract,” to which he replied, “No, I have a Buick.”
A man got on an elevator with several other men. He sniffed around and said, “Somebody’s deodorant is not working.” A big fellow said, “It’s not me, I never use the stuff.”
It was a long drive back to Florida, but I was in no rush. Long about the Georgia/Florida border I began to get a little weary as well as antsy to get home.
Note: This entire 4974 mile odyssey was completed without the benefit of the widely popular GPS. I chose to rely on standard road maps. One of the joys of solo travel is interaction with new people. So whether I was lost, which happened a few times, or knew precisely where I was going, spreading out my map elicited unselfish instructions and opened interesting dialogues.
Chapter 17
New York City
*
When in doubt travel.
I’ve traveled to NY four times, the first time being a mission of mercy. After I returned, I wrote the following essay about the experience. Life often presents us with choices for which there are few alternatives. Several years ago I found myself in exactly this position.
I was twenty-two, not long out of college, with plenty of common sense but short on experience. My parents owned a mom and pop grocery store in a small Midwestern town thirty-five miles from Chicago. As soon as I was tall enough to reach the meat scales and the cash register, my non-school hours were spent working at the store.
One summer morning, an affable, shy, blonde, thirty-something woman came in and asked my father for a job. Without fanfare Benita was hired. She’d recently left a slow-paced life in rural Tennessee for the hustle-bustle of this dirty industrial area. Working side by side we soon became confidants. She was like the older sister I didn’t have being the oldest in a large Catholic family.
Benita’s family consisted of two children, seven year old Julie, five year old Brian and a husband who worked for the railroad when he wasn’t playing golf. Like most young couples in the early 70’s they were struggling to make ends meet.
One day Benita came to work grinning like a Cheshire cat. She’d just learned she was pregnant. Her elation turned to sorrow the following month when Julie and Brian contracted German measles. The doctor predicted only a ten percent chance of giving birth to a normal, healthy child and recommended abortion.
Benita agonized and agonized then agonized some more; her husband wanted no part whatsoever in the process, the choice remained totally up to her. I was relieved the decision was not mine to make. In her eleventh week she reluctantly decided to take the doctor’s advice; he thrust a list of clinics into her hand.
She learned that in Chicago only eight weeks were allowed for women to have abortions, so she needed to travel to New York where they were more enlightened. My poor friend was petrified. Not only was she facing a traumatic ordeal but she had never been on an airplane. I did everything I could to help — bought our tickets, made an appointment at the clinic and booked a small hotel close by.
When I told my parents of my decision to accompany Benita to New York, they were appalled. They railed and ranted about the sinfulness of abortion. “God will provide,” they intoned. Their blind-faith mentality left no room for exceptions, no circumstances that warranted abortion. Their protests merely made my resolve stronger to help my new friend.
We landed at LaGuardia on a partly cloudy fall afternoon, bused into the city and located the hotel. Forty-five minutes later the two of us were on foot, small grips in hand, traipsing the four blocks to the clinic, a nondescript brownstone. The waiting room was full, some looking like babies themselves. Silently we waited, deep into our own thoughts, until her name was called.
After filling out reams of paperwork we were shown to a small cubicle where a compassionate nurse explained the procedure to us. Benita would receive a saline injection directly into her uterus through her navel and would then have a normal, albeit, premature delivery, much like a miscarriage. Barring any complications she would be ready for discharge twelve hours later. Assured she was comfortable, I wearily trudged back to the hotel, stopping at a deli for a sandwich and a bottle of beer to go.
After a fitful night the phone rang at 6:30 a.m. with the report that Benita had just delivered and was doing fine. A shudder ran through me at the mental image of what had just transpired, my concern being how my friend was holding up. I quickly dressed and walked back to the clinic, where we talked, shared, cried, and laughed. Later that day her spirits lifted and she was ready to be discharged. In her somewhat weakened condition, a bus ride back to LaGuardia seemed inadvisable; I made arrangements for a limo to pick us up at 6:15 p.m.
We looked forward to a relaxing flight back to Chicago. However, about an hour out of New York the plane suddenly lurched, our drinks ending up in our laps. We were in the leading edge of a horrendous thunderstorm — lightning, thunder, hail and gusty winds. Benita’s eyes widened with fear, her pallor pasty. She grasped my arm in a death grip and buried her face in my shoulder. The turbulence was like a roller coaster ride. Time passed interminably slow. The pilot announced a detour up to Milwaukee and would stand by until the weather eased. We finally landed at O’Hare nearly two hours late.
Benita’s husband met us at the gate. On the drive home, I listened incredulously to his preoccupation with his golf handicap, not at all concerned about the traumatic ordeal his wife had just experienced.
A little after midnight I hugged my friend and wished her well. The look of utter relief and the gratitude she expressed were all I needed to withstand my parents’ harangue the next morning, not to mention my full awareness that there was no doubt I had made the right choice.
*
“Only if we can find a good deal,” I replied when two friends, Doris and Janet, asked me to join them for week in New York City back in 2002.
We logged onto the Internet and searched hotels in Manhattan. Hotels.com provided an array of two and three star hotels complete with photos and room rates. One hotel, the NY Helmsley, jumped off the page. Located on 42nd St. between 2nd and 3rd Ave., this luxury hotel offered a room large enough for the three of us for an unbelievable all inclusive price of $380.00 per person for the entire week.
The challenge now was to find an equally good deal for air fare. Expedia.com offered a round trip on American Airlines for $145.00 per person. Reservations set, we contracted for an Executive car to take us to and from the Tampa airport for $30.00 per person including tip.
On the flight to LaGuardia, we plotted on how best we could continue this economic
al path we’d started down.
After checking into our hotel I looked across the street and noticed a large green, red and white banner being strung up in front of a pub. I walked across the street and discovered that El Presidenté beer was showcasing their product that evening and offering free tapas. Well, I hightailed back to the hotel to tell the girls I’d found a place for dinner. Don’t remember what the tapas consisted of, but we didn’t go away hungry. My two friends don’t drink, so I was able to consume more than my share of cold beer.
Our hotel supplied free apples, free NYT papers and free canapes at happy hour. And they said food was expensive in the city! Our room, while quite spacious, only provided two double beds. Ingenious Janet drew up a bed schedule which allowed each of us to have a bed to ourselves every third night.
Continuing on our frugal trip, here’s a list of things to do for free: sitting on the green benches on 5th Avenue watching all the hustle and bustle; sitting in Central Park watching squirrels frolicking as well as impromptu performances by weirdos; walking through Battery Park watching the Wall St. people scurrying to work, brief case in one hand and cell phone in the other; food vendors a melting pot of nationalities; flowers and people at Rockefeller Center and free group tours of Grand Central Station.
We bought a Metro Pass for $19.00 and were able to travel all over Manhattan by bus and subway. One day we found ourselves at Ground Zero, which happened to be the day they were removing the last girder with a small parade. I chatted up a Red Cross woman who let us stand inside the barricade with her.
Right around the corner from our hotel was a high class Korean market, serving fresh tasty food sold by the pound — also plenty of beer and colorful flowers.
A highlight of the trip was an invitation from Doris’ daughter Diana to dinner at her apartment on the Upper East Side. We bought a bottle of wine, got dressed up and took the bus up to Diana’s place. Janet took a seat while Doris and I stood. Noticing Janet’s knee highs that were now down around her ankles, we fell into a fit of laughter. The snooty woman sitting next to Janet said, “I’m assuming you’re not from around here!” Quick thinking Janet wove a web of deceit telling the woman we were were on assignment working for a national magazine, that Doris and I were the writers and she was the photographer. The woman changed her tune.
The view from Diane’s apartment was magnificent: the Empire State Building, the Rainbow Room and Beekman Towers.
The Bag Lady with Doris
There are a host of art galleries in New York. We visited the Marlborough Gallery on the west side to view an exhibit by Fernando Botero, the noted Colombian artist famous for painting exaggerated subjects. We also visited the Frick Collection, the American Museum of Natural History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, all at senior citizen discounts. Here we met up with a wacky friend named Zelda who lives on the west side of the city.
We splurged and bought tickets to see Cabaret at Studio 54 starring John Stamos, Polly Bergen and Hal Linden. I would hope that in its glory days of disco this studio hired a janitorial service. Now it’s just a smelly, dirty theater; the bathroom floors were so sticky I thought I would lose my shoe.
Early one morning Janet and I jumped on the subway and headed down to Ellis Island at the southern tip of Manhattan. From there we caught a $6.00 ferry rider to Ellis Island giving Lady Liberty a wave on the way by. To stand on the exact spot where our courageous ancestors endured adversity & humiliation so we could grow up in a free country was humbling. The thirty minute film, “Island of Hope, Island of Tears” is a must see. But make sure you have some tissue in your pocket. Some of the items that immigrants brought with them: bibles, christening gowns, wedding gowns, jewelry, china and silver.
On the way back we decided to walk, I was on the lookout for an authentic NY Deli to get an authentic Reuben. Janet said she didn’t like them; I told her to order a cheeseburger then. The first deli we stopped in was manned by Asians with zero customers — we kept walking. Finally I spotted a deli manned by a host of different ethnicities all yelling and waiting on a long line of people. We cued up. I said to Janet, “You’ll miss a real culinary experience if you don’t try the famous NY Reuben, dripping with flavor.” She still wasn’t convinced. We took our trays upstairs to a small loft and found a seat. If you remember the movie, “When Harry Met Sally,” well, yours truly sounded just like her while juices were running down my arms. But being in NYC nobody batted an eye.
Each day we’d vow to order salad for lunch, but each day we’d walk by those huge windows displaying a variety of pizza concoctions. So, we settled for “salad pizza,” ordering all kinds of veggies on it.
When the oppressive heat became too much or our tired old legs became wobbly, we would dart into a church like St. Patrick’s or Trinity, sit and rest, cool off and gape at the impressive architecture.
A few times we took the bus to the NY Public Library at 5th and 42nd, an impressive landmark where we checked email and browsed.
On more than one occasion we commented on how safe we felt, three women walking down the street at night. Many credit Mayor Guiliani for making this possible by cleaning up Manhattan.
Then there’s the story of the Park family. Janet, on previous trips to NYC, became familiar with a Korean family named Park who crafted beautiful costume jewelry. She told me the family has stores all over the city, so we set out to find them. Janet spotted a big sign that read “Park” so we headed toward it. Turns out it was a parking garage; we’ve shared more than a few laughs over this.
If you walk twenty blocks north or south in Manhattan, you’ve walked one mile. Locals call the north-south blocks short blocks and the east-west blocks long blocks.
You can tell by the table below that my friends and I wanted to share all expenses equally. Being a former accountant, I was in charge of bookkeeping.
Pro Rata NYC Expenses – June, 2002
Expense Lil Doris Janet
Phone $5.00 $14.05 $0.00
Happy Hour-Helmsley $12.00 $7.75 $4.50
Executive Car $30.00 $30.00 $30.00
NY Times $1.00 $1.00 $1.00
Dim Sum $2.00 $2.00 $2.00
Calico Jack’s Cantina $12.00 $12.00 $12.00
Zelda’s Dinner $13.00 $12.00 $12.00
Totals $75.00 $78.80 $61.50
Since you two paid some tips (Janet $3.00 + Doris $6.00) it screwed up my nice tidy bookkeeping. So, deduct my share of tips from what you owe me then work the rest out between each other.
*
In the fall of 2015, my new friend Rachel asked if I’d like to travel to NYC with her. We decided on mid November. I left the planning up to her as she’s so good at it.
When she sent the paperwork I gulped when I noticed our hotel was in Harlem. My nephew goes to school at Columbia, in the heart of Harlem, so I called him. He said not to worry about a thing; and it turns out he was right.
I was still a bit leery, but turned out it was the perfect place to be. Harlem was less congested than midtown with lots of good restaurants. The staff at our hotel couldn’t have been more helpful and congenial. They helped us with directions and restaurant suggestions. They advised us of only one area of the city to stay out of. Still it was an eerie feeling being two white faces in a sea of black humanity.
We used Uber for the first time both coming and going, and it was very efficient. Glad they’re giving cabs some competition. The morning we checked out, our Uber car was outside before we could get out the door.
We enjoyed a good day going up to the new World Trade Building, 1776 feet. What a view! The Statue of Liberty looked like a dwarf as did Ellis Island. Afterwards we took the ferry over to Staten Island — it was free and offered a nice view of the city from the water.
One day we rode the M-10 bus most of the afternoon, stopped for soul food at Amy Ruth’s, and were ready for happy hour when we returned to the hotel as the bar advertised free appetizers. However, when we got a
look at the drink menu, we decided to go elsewhere — house wines were $10.00. We walked less than two blocks and ran in to a relatively new place called Angels of Harlem. The happy hour prices for wine were $6.00, and the Jamaican bartender talked our ears off. We really enjoyed ourselves. Afterwards we walked to a gourmet pizza place that was recommended; really fine pizza.
Nephew Brandon joined us one night for dinner at an upscale Italian restaurant called Lido. Rachel and I liked the food so much we dined there two nights in a row. The bartender named Shine looked like she belonged on Broadway.
We couldn’t be in the city without seeing a Broadway play. We agreed on An American in Paris, which was well choreographed. However, it was staged in one of those old, old theaters in Times Square that even smells old.
I really felt old hobbling around; we had to find subway stations with elevators as using stairs was slow and painful. So, when I got home I called and made an appointment with an orthopedic knee specialist. I’ve since had a total knee replacement and recovering nicely. Now I’m ready for more traveling, hopefully pain free.
*
Since Niagara Falls was high on my bucket list, I asked Rachel if she cared to go in June of 2016. She jumped at the offer.
Because she’s earned Gold status with Sheraton, we were upgraded to a falls view room. It was on the 18th floor with a magnificent view of both the American and Canadian sides. Each night from 9:00 until 11:00 the falls were lit up; a couple nights they set off fireworks. Other perks were free bus passes which we used everyday taking all three routes to their ends and back. We also were afforded free Wi-Fi, free beer tasting tickets and free newspapers.
Magnificent is the only word I can use to describe Niagara Falls. No wonder they’re referred to as a Wonder of the World. We joined the 30 million folks who make the journey to the falls every year. At fifty percent capacity, 3160 tons of water flow over the falls every second creating millions of kilowatts of hydropower. A gutsy sixty-three year old female teacher named Annie Taylor, the first person to go over the falls in a barrel, survived.
