Most New Yorkers get around via NYC Transit. Be it our “timely” buses or our ever “timely” and “clean” subways. We should not forget the Staten Island Railway. That’s like a trolley from yesteryear. But hey, today’s subway systems seem to be on that track. What track it is on no one really knows. It is unlikely we will ever know. For the record, I know all the lines. I have friends all over the USA. They often text me when they’re coming to the Big Apple and ask for train advice. I coach them as best as I can. But ‘ya never know.
Annadale Station – Staten Island Railway
Each time you ride, you can probably write a story. You need to take in the salespeople, preachers, drunks, crazies, tourists, and the performers. Today, I will focus on the quality of the service. No need to talk about the cleanliness of the stations, the trains, and the restrooms. That’s for another time.
Downtown R & W Station
Once I was on the R going to Cortlandt Street – World Trade. After City Hall, they just ran the train right to DeKalb Avenue. They didn’t tell us. Eventually it pulled into DeKalb. The tourists asked me what they should do. They were hoping to go to Ground Zero. I said we have to go to the Manhattan-bound platform and hope it goes there. Heck, we were at DeKalb. I should have just said, go to Junior’s, get a delicious burger, and a piece of its award-winning cheesecake.
Menu at Junior’s
Once I was going to see Paul McCartney at Yankee Stadium, I got on the D train. It is supposed to run to the Stadium when there are ballgames and other events, such as concerts. A packed train flew right by the Stadium and, unlike a cutter by Mariano, missed the strike zone. In other words, it didn’t stop. The conductor sheepishly announced that they forgot to program the train to stop at 161st. He told us to get off two stops later and take the Manhattan-bound train to the Stadium.
Yankee Stadium
Another time at the Stadium after a Yankees-Red Sox game, the station was packed beyond belief. The NYPD let everyone know they forgot to add the extra service they usually do during games. They were trying to catch up.
NYPD Boat – I know it is not an image of an officer at the subway station. But NYC Transit would not know the difference
Another day, I wanted to take the Queens-bound R to Queens. It wasn’t running. I figured I’d get an F. I went to the station and paid. They said the F wasn’t running. But they were running the E (a train that the Board of Health should condemn) through that station. But it may not go to the stop I wanted. The F wound up running through. I asked the conductor if that train was going where I needed to go. She said, “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me. Get on my train.” I did. It worked.
For a moment, let’s jump the Long Island Railroad (LIRR). A week or so ago, I saw Joe Jackson at the Beacon. I wanted to take the 2 or 3 from 72nd to Times Square to get the E. The E was out of service. I could have walked over to the F. Or take the LIRR at Penn Station. Mind you, due to construction that has been going on for years at the Forest Hills Station, only the first four cars open when it pulls in. When will it be finished? Why ask? You know.
Joe Jackson at the Beacom
I got into what looked like the first car. I asked the conductor if I was in the right car. He said my train is stopping at Forest Hills. I asked again whether this car would open. He didn’t know. He never scanned my ticket. That happens on all the trains that have that payment procedure. I experienced that in Berlin, too. I always buy one. I am not willing to take the risk. But it does feel like I was wasting money. Or not. Honestly needs to count for something.
Then there are the nights that after games or concerts at the Garden several of the subway lines in Penn Station aren’t running and you have to walk to Herald Square or elsewhere. I have had interesting experiences on NJ Transit, PATH – Path to where is what you should ask and Metro North.
Despite all of this, it’s our way to get around and helps make NYC what it is. Keep riding.
Tipping is the standard for good service. Whether it is the server or bartender in a restaurant, the delivery person, super, barber, or a few other folks. I have always been a big tipper. I have a friend who does the same. Some do not believe in tipping.
There are the standard percentages of the bill to give, and thankfully restaurants make suggestions, and you plug it right in when you swipe your phone. But then there are the scams with tipping and other ways places try to unjustly and/or unnecessarily squeeze money out of you.
Last week, I saw Joe Jackson at the Beacon. I went downstairs where the lavatories are. Right outside is now a self-serve beverage bar. You can get beer, soda, water, and some other beverages. They have an employee standing near the fridge. The process is pretty simple: you walk up to it and pull out your beverage(s). You go to the scanner, place it in the middle, and tap your card. The employee is there to help you and check ID if you’re purchasing alcohol.
It is all pretty simple. I grabbed a water bottle, scanned, and swiped. It did ask me to leave a tip. I left nothing. I wish I could have tipped myself. I did see some people click on the tip section on the scanner. I am not sure why. They did exactly what I did. If the employee helped the person scan the item or pull it out of the fridge, you might consider giving a tip. But does this get into the craziness of everyone expecting a tip? Supermarkets and drug stores have tips jars by the registers. Fast food joints do. For decades, this was unheard of. It just seems like another way to squeeze money out of people. Plus, I am sure the vendors know that too many people like to click on everything they see. So, they don’t even think about when they add more money to an already overpriced bottle of water.
Gargiulo’s Restuaurant
Then there are the other ways places try to rip you off. A few days ago, I was at Coney Island. I am a regular there. Nothing beats Gargiulo’s or Nathan’s. We all love a few rides on the Cyclone and Wonder Wheel. All of these places charge more than enough for their food and entertainment.
Nathan’s at Coney Island
I went on Leti’s Treasure, the water ride in Luna Park. On a hot, sticky day, there’s nothing better. You get drenched. Normally, I keep whatever is in my pockets in them and hold my NY Yankees hat. July 12, 2017, it flew off my head while riding the Cyclone rollercoaster. I am sure it is somewhere under the tracks. Who knows what bit into it?
The Hat That Replaced What Flew Off My Head
Back to scamming customers out of money. Lockers are available at some of the rides. The Cyclone does it the right way: you hand it to an employee who places your stuff in cubbies and gives you a bracelet, then you get dropped. At Leti’s and other places, they charge $2 for two hours for the lockers. Truthfully, it is a great idea to have them. It protects stuff you do not want to get wet or fall out. But people, particularly a couple or mom and dad and the kid(s), can easily spend a few hundred at America’s Playground. Why not give people a break and let them have the locker at no charge for two hours? People would probably be thankful and spend more on rides, food and souvenirs.
I hate headphones. I remember when the Sony Walkman was introduced, and everyone got one. My dad took me to the now-shuttered Tops Appliance City in Edison, NJ, and I got one from a competitor. I worked fine. My friends and I would sit in our bedrooms every Sunday night and listen to Dick Clark’s Top 100 and other music countdowns on our Walkmans. We would report our thoughts and predictions to each other over our Radio Shack walkie-talkies.
Cat Chain Shark, NY Aquarium
I could not stand having the music blaring directly into my ears. I took the headphones and put them slightly above or below my ears. Usually below. I could hear “Eye of the Tiger,” “Don’t You Want Me” and “Beat It” just fine. I have never outgrown this habit.
During the countless Zooms we sit through, I do the same if I am in the office. If I am remote, I use the speakers on my MacBook. For the record, I have had several iPhones. I have never once used the AirPods. I am thankful people use them. Keeps things slightly more pleasant on our subways. Much better than when people blast their music on their mobile devices for all of us to hear. Hint: we do not want to hear it.
A few days ago, I did the “Meet the Sharks” tour at the NY Aquarium, Coney Island. Chance our tour guide handed out headphones. He mentioned that if you stay close to me, you might not need them. But several camp groups are visiting, and it can get loud. Plus, there are fans, and we are going into some areas with louder equipment. I did my best to stay close. But everything he mentioned made me put on the headphones. I had to place the headband over my NY Yankees hat and push the speakers just below my ears. All was well. I heard it all and learned a lot. Toward the end of the tour, we handed them back and walked into the touch tank. I got to pet several cat chain sharks.
Jaws’ Little Sister, NY Aquarium
I have always been fearful that they have not been disinfected. Sometimes they give headsets in plastic bags that you tear open and attach to the device. Usually, you can keep or trash those when you’re done.
I have taken many tours with the Tenement Museum, New York, NY. It has walking and indoor apartment tours. They give out headsets. I never use them on the indoor tours. The educator usually speaks loudly enough. As for the walking tours, I stay close. Occasionally, I have had to wear them my way. I am outside in NYC. It is loud.
Bottom line, headphones have a purpose. But between the sound directly penetrating your ears and my worries about whether someone has worn them before me, I will do my best to use them only as needed and in my way.
We All Carry Keys – Are they the Keys to One’s Heart, Memories, Your Residence or Car?
A Set of Keys No Longer Needed
When you think of keys, the first that probably comes to mind are keys to your house or apartment. Maybe for those of us who own cars, you think of your car keys. Of course, these days cars and many homes open electronically.
Perhaps you think of the keys to opening the heart of the woman you like, and she’d date you. I doubt you think of the character Keys, played by Peter Coyote in “E.T. – The Extra Terrestrial.” There are better characters to think of, such as Gertie.
I would think we all own a few sets of house keys in our lifetime. I remember when I got my first set of keys. I was about 8 or 9, and they were for the house my parents, sister, and I lived in on Staten Island. Eventually, I got the car keys to my first car. It was my father’s Caddy. It became mine. I loved that vehicle. It was fun to cruise Staten Island while playing the Cure or Depeche Mode. When I took it to college, it was easy to make friends when you were on campus with a car. I drove everyone around. I played the same music.
I got residence hall and off-campus apartment keys at SUNY-New Paltz, and eventually keys to the apartments I rented and the one I now own. I own it. But currently, the bank owns me. Soon enough, it won’t.
Years ago, after my father died, I had the keys to his Plant City, Fla., home. I sold it. The keys are gone. I don’t have the keys to my mom’s house anymore. I used to for many years after I moved out. Eventually, she got new doors that required different locks. At one point, I had the keys to my sister’s first apartment. We basically lived next to each other. Nor do I have the keys to my prior dwellings. Why would I keep them? They wouldn’t open any doors.
In addition to the Caddy, I have had two Nissan Sentras. I remember selling the third one. I still have one of the keys. Why? I have no idea. I doubt the car is still running. It was 2002. But maybe. I kept my second car from 1992 to 2002. It was in six figures in mileage.
There are the keys to opening the hearts of the people I like. Those keys do not fit the lock—nothing more to say.
I remember when my grandmother gave me the keys to her Brooklyn apartment. She kept giving me sets of keys. Eventually, one of the sets worked. She told me one might have been my grandfather’s set. He’s been gone for a while. Too long. One might have been the set she gave to a friend, and the list goes on. Eventually, I got the keys to her building and apartment.
Of course, half the time I visited her, I never remembered them. I had to call her when I got there to be buzzed in. She can’t really hear. So, I had to call a few times. A few weeks ago, she went into the home (nursing home). She is now 99 years old. I’ve visited. It is hard to see her there. My mom, my aunt, and my uncle cleaned out her apartment. It was a rent-stabilized unit. She’s been there since before I was born. I figure the building will put it on the market. When the apartment was empty, my mom returned the keys to the super. My sets are in my kitchen—doubt they’d open the door anymore. Weeks ago, while she was still living there and we knew she was leaving, I mentioned to my mom that I guess I could toss the keys into the incinerator. She said not yet. Sadly, I think the time has come. But still holding on to them.
While I may no longer have the physical keys to my cars, dwellings, or whomever it is I like, I will always carry the vaulted memories of what they opened or could have opened.
I read on a social media platform to do a deep AI search of yourself. You should see what people find about you when they search for you. It’s a good idea.
These days, organizations do that as a pre-employment check, potential dating partners check you out and organizations do it to see if you’re okay to volunteer with them. This is only the top of the list.
Maybe you read my May 15 post, “Is AI Really That Smart?” I discuss its accuracy and your need to verify. AI is a great tool, and it is forging ahead. We are in the midst of a revolution. We are also at a learning stage.
The other day, I took the advice from my reading and did an AI search on myself. I used Google. I have found that it and X’s Grok offer the easiest and quickest searches. Was what I found about me accurate? Yes and no. Was it concerning? Not really. Was it funny? A little. Was it slightly misleading? Yes.
Let’s jump into it. It quickly found my employment records. All it did was search LinkedIn. It was fairly accurate. It didn’t pull up the timing I had for certain roles. But it was not terribly off. My LinkedIn profile is accurate as the platform allows. That’s the simple stuff.
I asked it about my interests. It quickly pulled up my loves: the Yankees, summer camp, and theater, particularly at Lincoln Center. I am in love with the fountain. I’d love to jump into it. That’d be way cooler than jumping into the one at Washington Square Park. I have been in that one when there was no water in it. I’d have no problem jumping it when the water was in it. People do it every day. Lincoln Center’s fountain is too classy. Maybe they can do a fundraiser and let people pay to jump in. I’d donate and jump.
Fountain at Lincoln Center
I asked it some questions. It said I was an avid Knicks fan, and I do not follow the NFL. I only follow MLB. I am not a Knicks fan. Sure, I am rooting for them in the championship. I have never watched a basketball game in my life. I was once offered tickets in the area Spike Lee sits. I turned them down because I was attending a more exciting (at least in my mind) event at the Plaza Hotel. Google told me to I check the scores of their games. During the final game of the playoff round, I checked once while I was watching the Bronx Bombers. As a New Yorker, I felt the need to know. I was glad they won. Does this constitute me being a hardcore fan? No way.
Yankee Stadium
I asked it about my family. It noted that my father passed away. It mentioned my mom was an RN. It said, “I am very close to my sister, and we travel regularly to Long Island for photo shoots.” I do a lot of photo shoots. My photography is mostly shot at Coney Island, Scout camps, my European vacations, and the East and Hudson Rivers. My first one on Long Island will be next week at Baiting Hollow Scout Camp. My sister will not be there. She has never been to any of my photo shoots. Oh, the ones I allegedly do on the Island are shots of the stars. I tried that once in Forest Hills. One day, I will try again. It also said someone who is not my sister is.
Coney Island
I asked it what music I like. It said the top of my lists are Sir Elton, Billy Joel, and it claimed I don’t like the Beatles. I love the Fab Four. It expanded to list my new-wave and punk loves – The Clash, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, and others. It left out my favorite band, U2. Was it right or wrong about music? I am not sure. Google pulled stuff from my blogs. In some of them, I mentioned what I listen to while I am writing or editing photography. All of these bands are in there. For the record, I am listening to goth right now. So, I guess AI was making educated guesses.
Rock Lake in Kunatah, Ten Mile River Scout Camps
It noted “Rent” is my favorite show. Hands down, it is. It pulled up my volunteer work and my role as chairman of the Ten Mile River Scout Museum. It mentioned my other volunteer work and attendance at religious services. It might have made me too religious. It is what it is.
It chronicled my Scouting America history. It noted that I was the chief of the former Aquehongian Lodge #112 and that I am an Eagle Scout. It got a few other things right and some things wrong. Funny thing is, I searched on the same terms two days in a row. One day it said this. The next day, it said that. It also pulled my fiction blogs and looped what my characters are doing as me. Most of the characters are based on me. That has never been mentioned. So maybe AI figured that out.
Brooklyn Bridge
Bottom line, AI is getting there. Is it 100 percent accurate? Will it ever be? Probably not. But will it be really close? No doubt about it. Should you use it as your final check to judge a future hire or date? No. Should you still verify and check other sources? Absolutely.
Email has been mainstream in business since the 1990s. As we know, we now have too many other ways to communicate, including but not limited to social media and texting. Remember faxing? Or snail mail? Both are still in play.
As a chair of a community organization and a volunteer in a few others, we generally communicate our business via email. Several of us who are friends often have our own discussions via chat. But all official business is done via email.
We have members who do not have email. They do not have computers. Some are senior citizens. But before we toss in the age factor, I have worked with people in their early 90s to create PowerPoints and run podcasts. They had no issues. Yes, I worked with people much younger who had no clue how to use email or other communication methods. So, age is just a number.
About two weeks ago, it snowed in New York City. It hampered some events. One started at 7:30 a.m. ET. The other was supposed to begin at 9 a.m. ET. We wound up combining our groups. This recent storm was not the first time we have had to take that course of action. It will not be the last. We early birds sat around, and the folks from the later-starting group wandered in. Both groups have their latecomers. Snow delayed some of them even further. A day or two later, I suggested that when we know the weather will not be good, we send an email and make a robocall to let people know we are combining. Several people blasted this idea, saying some people don’t have email, and others don’t want to be bothered by a robocall. I made the case that email has been in play for a long time and that the call was coming from a number we all know. It should not register as a potential spam call, as carriers like to say.
I know people who text to landlines. I still have one. The texts usually arrive in gibberish. As chair of my group, generally start meetings (which are traditionally on Zoom, that’s another issue), reminding people you need to text their cell phones. Some folks love Facebook Messenger. Unfortunately, they do not realize Messenger works on Facebook. Many don’t know that you cannot email Gmail or send SMS messages from Messenger. Don’t get me started on WhatsApp. I think it works great and has its place.
Before I was chair, I was corresponding secretary. I created a form for people to send me via email when they donate. I can take their contact information off it and generate thank-you notes to distribute via email and traditional mail. It is still lovely to receive a personal, warm thank-you note in the mail. One of my chairs used to mail me handwritten notes with donor information. Sometimes he would wait weeks, and I’d get an envelope with 30 or 40 scraps of paper with contact information. This issue severely hampered our program.
The question has always lingered in my mind: What to do? I continue to use email and will call people. But the question will always linger on how to reach everyone.
Eight days later, Alana and Marc left camp and went home. Before they left, Alana nursed her beauties. Marc sat with the Woodsman and listened. On the eighth day, the herd of buffalo approached the babies and blessed them.
Marc got behind the wheel. Alana carefully placed the babies into her Infiniti. Alana put Depeche Mode onto the sound system and signaled it was time to go. They drove straight to the temple. Their parents were waiting. Yes, these two have parents. They are very strange. Anat, Jen, and all of the others were waiting with big smiles and gifts.
The mohel was ready to perform the circumcision on the boy. He stared at the knife. The girl was beside him. She, too, stared at the knife. The mohel gave him some Shiloh wine. Anat knew the owner of the vineyard. She had him make a remarkable vintage. Marc and Alana gave out a bottle to all attendees. The girl snagged some of it. Was this a sign she would be like her mom? As the mohel cut the foreskin, the boy just smiled. His eyes fluttered. They wanted to name him Palpatine. But settled for David Benjamin. He has this funny look in his eyes. Of course, Marc and Alana were waiting to see what he would do. Would he shoot lightning out of them, like Palpatine? The two were quite worried about how powerful their children would be. To the best of their knowledge, they are the only two born to parents who both have powers. The girl was named Sarah. They were thinking of Leia or Ashoka. Or maybe just Tano. They would probably call their kids the Star Wars nicknames. Sarah and David Benjamin seemed happy. They were dressed in cute, all-black baby clothes from Sisley.
They went to the basement of the shul for bagels and lox. Jerry was bouncing around. He was making sure Gillil was ok. A great big brother he is. Suddenly, they heard some loud noises outside.
Jay was bashing cars outside the temple. Anat immediately pelted him with raisins and dates. She was taking care of business. But Jay snuck away and entered the delivery door by the kitchen and started shooting glass. A piece shot off Sarah and Benjamin David. Marc and Alana ran over to their babies. They looked like they were smirking. They were in their strollers. The two kids looked at each other.
Suddenly, the strollers started moving. Marc and Alana got nervous. They knew the kids were ok. They knew some of their friends were waiting for this moment. They wanted it to be delayed. They certainly didn’t want their parents and other relatives to see what would happen next.
These days, many people no longer use traditional leather wallets. You may remember them. They had a billfold and pockets for your license, credit cards, and a picture of your kid or dog. According to a report by Amazon Web Services and PYMNTs in February 2024, 79 percent of Gen Z use digital wallets. Baby boomers and seniors account for 26 percent of the digital wallet users.
Let’s reminisce about the various types of wallets available. They still exist. Let’s start with my first wallet. It was a white Jox Sox. I got the socks from my grandmother. She was and might still be the queen of socks. But they had to be Jox Sox from Thom McAn, a shoe retailer. Sadly, it shuttered its 100-plus stores in 1986. You can still get Jox Sox from Amazon. I have a pair.
In the ’70s, most of us kids kept a dollar or two in our socks. We put coins in them, too. Sometimes, that causes cuts on the soles of our feet or toes. I can remember a quarter or two floating around my sock. The change could tear through our foot protection. My favorite memory was from when I attended the Manhattan Beach Jewish Center Day Camp. The camp would take us on a field trip to L&B Spumoni Gardens to get spumoni. That’s where I developed my love of this precious treat. Our counselors told us to wait for them to get us our spumoni and not to get anything else. We were about 10 years old.
Did we listen? We pulled a dollar out of our sock and got on the line for a Sicilian slice. Back then, a pizza slice cost around 50 or 75 cents. We knew they had the best pizza. They still do. I was last there on Memorial Day. I pulled my money out of my Timberlands wallet. It now costs $9.75 for two slices and a bottle of water.
Please note that the camp is kosher. Why did they take us to L&B? Who knows? They would pack kosher meals for us when we went to the now-closed Action Park (it reopened under another name), the beach, and on overnight trips to Cooperstown. Once, they took us to Yankee Stadium. We snuck over to the concession stands. The counselors told us they had to taste our hot dogs to see if they were kosher. So, we cut a piece off. Yeah, we and some of our trusted counselors ate all sorts of “kosher” crap from the stands in the amusement parks. And wherever else went.
In the 1980s, I attended summer camp, which was the best time of my life. Before I went, my dad handed me an old brown wallet of his. He said I should have one and carry a few dollars in it to buy stuff at the trading post. I took it. I obtained the singles from Larry, who served as our banker and purchased candy from the trading post or a hamburger meal in Bob (Slob, as we called it) Landers.
I carried that wallet with me when I needed to. For the most part, through junior and high school, I kept a dollar or two in my pocket or sock. I arrived at college and needed to carry a little more money. Not much. So, I had the wallet. My girlfriend didn’t like it, as it was worn. She bought me a new one for my birthday. It was nice. I used it. When she dumped me, I went back to the trusty old wallet. Eventually, as I got older, I bought a few. I had a nice Coach wallet from Bloomingdale’s, and I received another one for my birthday from the people at a volunteer group I worked with. They just bought it for me. They had no idea if I was using a worn one or my sock. We had a meeting around my birthday. We had pizza, and they handed me the new wallet.
For the most part, now my iPhone is my wallet. I tap it at the subway turnstile. Yeah, I ditched the MetroCard, too. Eventually, New York City Transit will eliminate them. I tap and pay at the Stadium, Key Food, and most restaurants.
Ultimately, my favorite wallet will always be a sock. Preferably, a Jox.
Memories of Lazy Weekend Reading with the Newspaper
By Mitchell Slepian
My mom sometimes said, my dad was married to his New York Times (NYT). My parents divorced before I was a teen. I often spent weekends with him. I have distinct memories in the mid-to-late 70s of my dad reading his Sunday newspaper and, of course, reading his copy of the daily paper on his NYC subway train from Sheepshead Bay into Bloomingdales when he was a manager of its finance department.
In 1978, a great year (the Yankees repeated their World Series title), dad, mom, my sister and me left Brooklyn for an exotic place – Staten Island. Dad now had a much longer commute to work. He took his paper on the bus or the Staten Island Ferry.
“You can read it in the Sunday papers. Sunday papers.” We know Joe Jackson was criticizing the British tabloid press when he wrote “Sunday Papers” for his debut album “Look Sharp.” Much of it rings true. But I wanna talk about the Sunday papers in a different mode. I know most people get their news from their phones. I do love Apple News. But there is something about having the old-fashioned newspaper in your hands. I still get a Sunday paper. My mom taught me to read it by placing it on a beach towel on the kitchen table. She said you’d save our and eventually your table from ink stains. The stains that got on my hands that’s what the sink is for.
My memories of the Print Edition
Some of us are old enough to remember the old school weekend NYT. It had tons of thick special sections that were delivered on Saturday. The Arts & Leisure section had information about what was happening in NYC’s museums and elsewhere. Often, you’d see how if you went to one at a certain time you got in for half price or got a free something. My dad clipped out all of this, and on Sunday, we went to Museum Mile and other spots. I have an older cousin whose dad did similar, I loved the museums. My cousin hated them. I’m a member of nearly every museum in NYC. Years later, when both of us were laid off, I spent my time at the Guggenheim, Whitney, Tenement Museum, and others. I always asked my cousin to join me. He would never.
At home on Staten Island, we got our daily delivery of the Staten Island Advance (Advance). I read it. I loved reading Moss Klein’s stories in the sports section about my beloved Bronx Bombers. My first job was in politics, serving as a press secretary for a local NYC Council Member. I pitched our news releases to the Advance and was friendly with several reporters. My sister another newspaper reader became a reporter at the Advance. I was long gone from politics when she was employed at the paper, so we never worked together. That would have been interesting.
When I was a kid, my grandparents would come over from Sheepshead Bay for Sunday afternoon barbeques. We had the NYT and Advance on the table. As we were getting ready for our hot dogs and burgers, grandpa would read both. He usually read the New York Post or New York Daily News at home. In the metro section of the NYT, he always looked for stories about Staten Island. It was funny. That never happened. That’s why Staten Islanders swore by the Advance.
Eventually in the late 90s, I moved out and started buying my Sunday papers. I started in Rego Park and came back to Staten Island. I read all the dailies, the New York Daily News, the New York Post, and my eventual favorite of the bunch, The Wall Street Journal (WSJ). I would buy them before boarding the Subway or Staten Island Ferry. That’s when they sold papers all over. It was before you woke up, and your iPhone was buzzing like a madman with the latest from Apple News, social media, and Snaps from your friends, about, as Depeche Mode would put it, “the world we live in and life in general.”
I enjoyed reading the papers on the commute to and from work. Of course, the news in the morning wasn’t any different than the news on the ride home. I just read a different paper. So, the only differences could have been the opinions of the writers. Nothing was updated from the morning to the evening. We sometimes had the radio or news channels on at work. So, we followed Wall Street and breaking news with the available technology to the best of our abilities.
On my ferry rides, I often sat with a group of friends on the a.m. commute into the city. We discussed the latest news. Most of us had a paper. Usually, our conversations focused on the Yankees. We did discuss politics and movies. We compared the opinions of the writers in the different papers.
When I was back on Staten Island, my sister got an apartment in the same building complex as mine. On weekends, I would read my copy of the NYT and walk over to her building, throw it at her door, and scream out, “Mr. Flintstone.” During the holiday season, I put a card into the paper and begged for a tip. She gave me a dollar. It was so sweet of her.
As you have realized, I love baseball. I remember sitting at my table reading the NYT, which we know is not known for having a great sports section. I read its feature about the orthopedic surgeon Dr. James Andrews (now retired). You got nervous when you heard your favorite athlete was going to see him. You knew he was down for the count. The article gave an in-depth feature about how he evaluated and treated the athletes. It was a great learning experience. Holding the paper in my hands and reading about baseball feels more real than scrolling through my phone or tablet.
The Arts & Leisure section of the NYT offered similar. When “Wicked” was still starring Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel, it did a terrific feature about how the two Tony winners were brought up and how they began their storied acting careers. Jumping ahead to the WSJ’s Off-Duty section, Lettie Teague’s weekly wine column offers great advice on what to sip, buy, and order. The paper’s magazine sectionoften has beautiful watches. I want all of them. Sometimes, I get ‘em.
One more memory of dad and his paper. All the Sunday papers had many circulars featuring coupons of the latest sales at the drug store, supermarket, local clothing stores and restaurants. My dad called them “couponys.” He used to sit and clip them out. He stored them in an index card holder and had a filing system. He was one of those people, who would walk up to the register in Waldbaum’s with more groceries than you can imagine and pay about $10.
I Began Having Newspaper Issues
I moved off the rock and went back to Queens. I transferred my weekend NYT subscription. Eventually, I switched to WSJ’s Weekend Journal. Pre-Covid, the paper used to be delivered to my apartment door. During the height of the lockdown and today, all the papers are in the lobby. We rarely had any problems. There was a pile of newspapers on the radiator. On Saturday morning, I would walk downstairs around 6 a.m. and take mine. The walks up and down the steps prepared me for the day. I would start reading. Sometimes, I would finish the main section and go to morning services or elsewhere— hopefully, Yankee Stadium. They returned to deliver the paper to my front door a few months ago. Then it went back to the lobby.
Most people I know stopped getting newspaper delivery or stopped buying them at newsstands. Many newsstands are only selling junk food. Several have closed. Just walk along NYC’s streets and you will see many locked-up newsstands. Most of the people I know, just get their news online.
Sadly, since the beginning of 2025 my WSJ stopped showing up. I go downstairs and see other papers. I have emailed and spoken to the WSJ’s customer care countless times. They keep promising to get it right. Occasionally the paper comes late Saturday night. It is still the weekend. But by that time, I do not want to read it. I have already seen everything on my phone. I like a Sunday paper. I enjoy being offline as much as possible on the weekend. Like most people, I am on too much. While disappointed to do this, I will likely cancel my Sunday paper.
Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc. 