a minute,” he said. “I want to catch this.”
His quick eye had seen a car—a station wagon with Illinois license plates—coming southward on Fifth Avenue. It attempted to turn westward onto 56th Street, going the wrong way on a one-way street. Immediately there was a great blaring of horns. A dozen pedestrians shouted, “One-way!” The car came to a shuddering halt, nosing into approaching traffic. The driver bent over the wheel, shaken. The woman beside him, apparently his wife, grabbed his arm. In the seat behind them two little boys jumped about excitedly, going from window to window.
A young uniformed patrolman had been standing on the northwest corner of the intersection, his back against a plate glass window. Now, smiling, he sauntered slowly toward the stalled car.
“Midtown Squad,” Captain Delaney muttered to his wife. “They pick the big, handsome ones.”
The officer wandered around to the driver’s side, leaned down, and there was a brief conversation. The couple in the out-of-state car laughed with relief. The policeman cocked thumb and forefinger at the two kids in the back and clicked his tongue. They giggled delightedly.
“He’s not going to ticket them?” Delaney said indignantly. “He’s going to let them go?”
The patrolman moved back onto Fifth Avenue and halted traffic. He waved the Illinois car to back up. He got it straightened out and heading safely downtown again.
“I’m going to—” Captain Delaney started.
“Edward,” his wife said. “Please.”
He hesitated. The car moved away, the boys in the back waving frantically at the policeman who waved back.
Delaney looked sternly at his wife. “I’m going to get his name and tin number,” he said. “Those one-way signs are plain. He should have—”
“Edward,” she repeated patiently, “they’re obviously on vacation. Did you see the luggage in the back? They don’t know our system of one-way streets. Why spoil their holiday? With two little boys? I- think the patrolman handled it beautifully. Perhaps that will be the nicest thing that happens to them in New York, and they’ll want to come back again. Edward?” He looked at her. (“Your wife is obviously ill…the fever…hair in her comb…you have three options…infection that…”) He took her arm, led her carefully across the street. They walked the next block in silence.
“Well, anyway,” he grumbled, “his sideburns were too long. You won’t find sideburns like that in my precinct.”
“I wonder why?” she said innocently, then laughed and leaned sideways to touch her head against his shoulder.
He had plans for lunch at the Plaza, window-shopping, visiting the antique shops on Third Avenue—things she enjoyed doing together on his day off. It was important that she should be happy for a time before he told her. But when she suggested a walk through the Park and lunch on the terrace at the zoo, he agreed instantly. It would be better; he would find a bench where they could be alone.
As they crossed 59th Street into the Park, he looked about with wonder. Now what had been there before the General Motors Building?
“The Savoy-Plaza,” she said.
“Mind-reader,” he said.
So she was—where he was concerned.
The city changed overnight. Tenements became parking lots became excavations became stabbing office buildings while your head was turned. Neighborhoods disappeared, new restaurants opened, brick changed to glass, three stories sprouted to thirty, streets bloomed with thin trees, a little park grew where you remembered an old Irish bar had been forever.
It was his city, where he was born and grew up. It was home. Who could know its cankers better than he? But he refused to despair. His city would endure and grow more beautiful.
Part of his faith was based on knowledge of its past sins: all history now. He knew the time when the Five Points Gang bit off enemies’ ears and noses in tavern brawls, when farm lads were drugged and
His quick eye had seen a car—a station wagon with Illinois license plates—coming southward on Fifth Avenue. It attempted to turn westward onto 56th Street, going the wrong way on a one-way street. Immediately there was a great blaring of horns. A dozen pedestrians shouted, “One-way!” The car came to a shuddering halt, nosing into approaching traffic. The driver bent over the wheel, shaken. The woman beside him, apparently his wife, grabbed his arm. In the seat behind them two little boys jumped about excitedly, going from window to window.
A young uniformed patrolman had been standing on the northwest corner of the intersection, his back against a plate glass window. Now, smiling, he sauntered slowly toward the stalled car.
“Midtown Squad,” Captain Delaney muttered to his wife. “They pick the big, handsome ones.”
The officer wandered around to the driver’s side, leaned down, and there was a brief conversation. The couple in the out-of-state car laughed with relief. The policeman cocked thumb and forefinger at the two kids in the back and clicked his tongue. They giggled delightedly.
“He’s not going to ticket them?” Delaney said indignantly. “He’s going to let them go?”
The patrolman moved back onto Fifth Avenue and halted traffic. He waved the Illinois car to back up. He got it straightened out and heading safely downtown again.
“I’m going to—” Captain Delaney started.
“Edward,” his wife said. “Please.”
He hesitated. The car moved away, the boys in the back waving frantically at the policeman who waved back.
Delaney looked sternly at his wife. “I’m going to get his name and tin number,” he said. “Those one-way signs are plain. He should have—”
“Edward,” she repeated patiently, “they’re obviously on vacation. Did you see the luggage in the back? They don’t know our system of one-way streets. Why spoil their holiday? With two little boys? I- think the patrolman handled it beautifully. Perhaps that will be the nicest thing that happens to them in New York, and they’ll want to come back again. Edward?” He looked at her. (“Your wife is obviously ill…the fever…hair in her comb…you have three options…infection that…”) He took her arm, led her carefully across the street. They walked the next block in silence.
“Well, anyway,” he grumbled, “his sideburns were too long. You won’t find sideburns like that in my precinct.”
“I wonder why?” she said innocently, then laughed and leaned sideways to touch her head against his shoulder.
He had plans for lunch at the Plaza, window-shopping, visiting the antique shops on Third Avenue—things she enjoyed doing together on his day off. It was important that she should be happy for a time before he told her. But when she suggested a walk through the Park and lunch on the terrace at the zoo, he agreed instantly. It would be better; he would find a bench where they could be alone.
As they crossed 59th Street into the Park, he looked about with wonder. Now what had been there before the General Motors Building?
“The Savoy-Plaza,” she said.
“Mind-reader,” he said.
So she was—where he was concerned.
The city changed overnight. Tenements became parking lots became excavations became stabbing office buildings while your head was turned. Neighborhoods disappeared, new restaurants opened, brick changed to glass, three stories sprouted to thirty, streets bloomed with thin trees, a little park grew where you remembered an old Irish bar had been forever.
It was his city, where he was born and grew up. It was home. Who could know its cankers better than he? But he refused to despair. His city would endure and grow more beautiful.
Part of his faith was based on knowledge of its past sins: all history now. He knew the time when the Five Points Gang bit off enemies’ ears and noses in tavern brawls, when farm lads were drugged and
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