Requiem For A City
By: Matthew D Abate
Tags: Brooklyn, Covid 19, New York City, New York, NYC

In a recent article by Carl Swanson in New York magazine titled “Reasons We’ve Loved New York” — he laments the loss of over 500 beloved restaurants, bars, bodegas, and other societal establishments during the Covid-19 pandemic. Reading this article, pouring over the names of the padlocked businesses and establishments, I couldn’t believe how personal it felt — like someone hit me in the gut. This is in no way to disparage those who’ve lost friends, lovers and family members; this, of course, is the true tragedy of 2020.

Cities are made of people — and with them or without them — so goes the republic. Because of this, the fabric of New York, undeniably, has unraveled. The ultimate cost of financial loss (let alone the dreams of small business owners) in addition to the mass exodus of those that abandoned New York in the last eleven months, one could say the city has been possibly and permanently injured. An afternoon walk through midtown Manhattan proves the millions of footsteps in ‘regular’ times have become a march of invisible ghosts. Now the streets are full of drug dealers, the mentally ill, brave, but skittish tourists, and those, like myself, who remain here, trudging on, trying to keep afloat any way we can.

Some of the establishments mentioned in Swanson’s article are above my pay grade — i.e. the underground clubs and swanky restaurants of Tribeca or SoHo weren’t in my purview during my 15-year tenure in New York City. No, I don’t share any empathy for the closing of large chain clothing stores or one less Starbucks dissolving a block away from the other that miraculously survived.

The sting came from reading of the end of lesser-known (and without a dutiful obituary deemed by New York magazine) establishments that made my experience here all the more rewarding.

It was reading about the closing of the 24-hour diner Odessa in the East Village, where I spent more than enough time eating a four in the morning breakfast. I loved grabbing an early brunch at Egg and Jimmy’s Diner and taking first dates to the bizarre and deliciously kitsch Snacky in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I remember taking a drink at Jameson’s (mainly for the namesake), when I was unfortunately stuck in the Upper East Side after a rough 15-hour shift. How many nights did I spend listening to the late show over at Jazz Standard in the Flat Iron District? I celebrated my fortieth birthday with my mother, sister, and then wife at the 41-year old Ipanema (the glorious Chimichurri steak followed by a Caipirinha will be missed) in Midtown. Least to say my own honorable tenure as a cocktailer at the great and sturdy Daddy-O bar in Greenwich Village, which closed after 21 years of loyally serving the neighborhood.

Reading the names of the places I’ve walked by a thousand times as a licensed tour guide in New York City coolly brought upon a subtle melancholy: Chumley’s, Fedora, Gem Spa, Khyber Pass, The Monkey Bar, Max Fish, The Hog Pit, Karma Lounge, Pig N’ Whistle, Atlas Café, Blue Smoke, Foley’s Bar, Bouchon Bakery, Trophy Bar, Pearl’s — the list reads like a litany of the dead — names I’ve known for years that will never return.

Swanson does end his article with a message of aspiration and I too wish to return the favor. No actual New Yorker believes things will last forever — it’s a fact each of us tenants must reconcile with and endure. I used the word ‘requiem’ in the title of this piece and I don’t use it lightly. A requiem is not just a mass for the dead. It is a solemn chant for the things that have passed. For several hundred years, New York City has worn many faces and will continue to do so. We have faced challenges most American cities have never dreamed — and we will do it again, pridefully, and always with sarcasm and jaded hope.

For those that have left, we here in New York City do bid thee adieu — perhaps we’ll see you again — but please forgive us if we give you a side-eye glance and mutter under our breath for not bearing with us during our struggle. But we are happy to have you back. Like any war, we need soldiers.

But for those that stayed, despite these epic challenges, I tip my hat to you as a fellow traveler, and wish to add one more fact. New York City will never be defeated, unless we defeat ourselves. New business, new people, and new energy will return. It has before, and will again.

Our song has not yet been sung.

This solemn chant may be a whisper now, but the roar of this international experiment of population, art, business, and people will be heard from again.

It just takes time. A thing, us New Yorkers, will just have to learn the hard way — like every other time before.