The Wyandotte herald. (Wyandotte, Mich.) 1879-1943, 1940-11-08
By BEATRICE WHITNEY
STRAIGHT
Guest conductor for
CtpN-n1COO

L. l.. stevenson
I love New York for its beauty;
hate il for its brutality Unlike
many New Workers. | don't think
OF It as a grand and exciting place
10 live. To me. il is a place to come
70 on a boat. through the dawn,
when skyscrapers loom through the
early mist. Then it is a city OF
promise Bur il IS not a place to
linger long. 1t IS city to taste and
be otf-to leave across a bridge;
stopping, TO look back at the re-
splendent magnitude of its skyline;
listening, to catch its rhythmic, sub
dued roar. New York at a dis
lance is Wonderful-eSpeCially at
dawn or dusk. the shadowy out
lines of its buildings dotted by lights
that blink of and on; its rivers,
with their ferryboats, and pleasure
ships, and wharfs, and sound. and
smoke; its bridges, the most beau
tlful in the world, swinging so eager
ly and so gracefully onto the island,
approached by lacework OF park
ways.
Although born here. l do not, like
most native New Workers, have a
composite picture of the city that
merges the impressions of various
ages. left here when l was II
and / have picture Of the city
in which my childhood was spent.
Later, l came back for year;
and l have picture of the city IN
which was a busy and serious
young student Away again, and
now back 10 live outside OF the city;
and have pictures of a New York
to which I dash on hurried visits
and for rushed appointments. USu-
ally. they are IN connection with the
Chekhov Theater studio az Ridge
field. Conn, where l live and work
as assistant director, as a teacher of
talented y0ing drama students. as
an actress: the most thrilling and,
10 me. the most important expert
ence of my life
This New York offers TO leisure
hours TO wander as one pleaseS.
New York can become, threatens
to become, horror-untiI one
stumbles upon some wonderful per-
son, some funny little shop of
specialist in wigs. or costumes, or
shoes. or some of the many things
needed for stage productions-may-
be a secondhand shop full of mar
velous things. hard to tear ones self
away from: an auction sale:
quaint shop in Chinatown or on the
BOWeTy.
Except on Sundays Then it's a
: different New York. New York on
4; Sunday or holiday is a city of
great dignity, Of peace, calm and
beauty. One can walk instead of
run. One can choose what one will
do, and do it slowly. One can enjoy
the moments instead of longing for
the end.
In the winter, though, New York
is at it's best The lights are bril-
liant in the cold The keen air is
fresh and clean Plays, music,
movement-yes, the winter is its
time.
And the early spring. In Central
park, the tulip trees; the many
nurses and the children; the dogs
and their funny masters, so incon-
gruOuS; foreign old men with their
tiny toy boats on the round pond in
the park, their pride in the beau
tifully fashioned little ships that col
Tide or pass so gracefully in the
light.
The drive along the Hudson river,
on the edge of the island, looking
over to the busy Jersey shore and
the towering Palisades, is as fantas-
tically lovely as the views from the
bridges.
New York today differs from the
picture that fingers from my child
hoOd-a city that held the magic of
flying spears and disappearing
ladies at the opera; red and yellow
whirligigs that whistled in the wind 3.
the man who sold the colored bal
looms. the circus, roller-skating and
fighting with my brother.
Nor is it the New York Of nv
student days. loved the evening
stiffness of the park. loved the
troileyS, their slowness; people's
faces; the crooked little streets ~
Greenwich village; restaurants .
different country each night. sit
ting and talking and relaxing after
meals; the elevated looking into
peoples homes. imagining the hun.
dreds of lives being lived behind
those walls.
New York It's beauty makes m.
almost forget the brutality that
tinges my love with hate.