The Wilmington morning star., 1940-01-30
Man bout

Bv Georae Tucker

vo, know. I'm not John Kieral,, or
FRANKLIN P. Adams, or Oscar Levant,
hit if YOU must ask questions, here
goes: What is New York? All rock
and ~wisecracks, mister, and Time.
It's a red fox tapping at Minetta
Brook, and a CULTS cry-a Half Moon
shin with a high-built pop, and
Henry Hudson. It's a string OF
beads, and a naked Indian saying
"Manhattan'' to a fat Dutchman in
nantaloons who wants to know.
How much?''
New York is q tulip bulb, and an
arrow flint. It's a lobster claw in
a fisherman's net, and a turkey
feather. There r a few wooden
shacks. There r a few wild,
lean dogs. The pigs root in the
streets, and the well-fed traders
from Amsterdam sit in the candle
lit taverns. The bungs from the
wine casks drip all night. 49,.
After a while the English come
and yell "Tallyho," and the tulip
bulb becomes a saddle of mutton
|. and a new York, yes, sir, a
brand new York is named in honor
of an older, a much older, York.
This means Burgoyne, and a Corn
wallis, and a bloody footprint in the
snow. It's Stony Point. It's the
Dove tavern, but you'd better hurry,
they're hanging Major Andre in the
morning. It's Washington. It's q
flag, and a fife, and a drum.
There is, eventually, a dirty little
cow.path of a street which, for some
reason, they call Broadway.
This is washington Irving's town
and Walt Whitman's, and Poe's'
There are Tories, and Wings, and
Abolitionists who pray for John
Browns soul. If you walk South
Street in the black of the moon you
can see a SLAYER. You can see
Irish adventures, and actors, and
black-robed Priests. You can even
read an editorial in the newspapers
which calls Lincoln a fool, although
the townspeople themselves don't
think Lincoln's a fool. The younger
men take him at his word, and Sign
up" They get brand new rifles that
make their shoulders sore, and new
boots that leave blisters on their
feet, and they march off gaiiy to-
wards q nightmare called Bull Run.
They u fast for awhile, but they
catch their breath and come back
again, and after a while, they don't
run any more. They find a fel'
low who knows what to do, and
he does it. And if you go up on
Riverside Drive you can find his
tomb, although I have always
thought that Ulysses S. Grant
should be buried in Ohio, not New
York.
Yes, this is Grants town, and
Trotsky's, and Babe Ruth's. 1t is
Sidney Lanier, and Mae West, and
Al Smith. East side, west side,
take me out to the ball game. There
is Tammany, and rum, and politics.
There is Prohibition, and a brand
new jargon hits the underworld. . {.
A rodney is a gun. . People get
rubbed out" -. These are the
dry, the smoky years -. and a rid
died body lies by the roadside.
If you listen closely you can hear
Tex Guinan yelling, Come on, Suck
err, let's give this little girl a hand"
|. Tex is a cloud now. Don't let
that strange, sudden rumble brighten
you! That's a subway. Wonder what
old pegleg Peter Stuyvesant would
think of a subway. -. Wonder what
the subway would think Of old Pc
ter Stuyvesant?
Flapjacks in Child's and Crepe
Suzettes at the Ritz. . George M.
Cohan ("I'm Just a Yankee Doodle
Dandy"), and a midget who sits In
J. P. Morgan's lap. -. There is an
era in New York's memory known
as the Ziegfeld era. But it is gone,
and so is he, and neither will ever
come back again. What is New
York? 1t is Bill Robinson with a
tap, tap, tap and a fried chicken
wing. 1t is Cab Galloway, and
a hi-de-ho-ho. go. 1t is Minskr, and
strip.tease, and Eugene O'Neill, and
seven million others who somehow
make this town what it is.
Beyond this deponent knoweth not.