December 2002

"City sidewalks, city sidewalks, dressed in holiday fare ... " in reality begins and ends with lighted trees and store windows in rich displays of Christmas' past, present and future. The sidewalks themselves, now, they're another story.

At first glance I thought I was walking through a street scene for some television show. The crowds were milling by at a pace familiar to New Yorkers and tourists to the city alike: a fast walk. Forced to the ground by a plain clothes policeman, identified only by the badge on his belt, was a man unable to move anything but his head. Cuffed hands behind his back with the officer's knee pressed firmly into the man's lower spine, he said: "Ya got me cuffed, let me get up, already, I ain't goin' noplace."

"I can't do that. You'll run off through this crowd and knock down some old lady," the calm policeman said. "Don't struggle. My partner's coming. Lie still."

Next to the man down was a huge baby blue bundle of his wares: wallets, sunglasses, "Gucci" purses, "Rolex" watches and more. The man was clean and sober, apparently just working for a living and, as I hovered in the doorway of a Duane Reed Drug Store watching the drama unfold, I felt the policeman was showing respect.

The law being broken was that of being an unlicensed vendor. Street sellers are subject to exhorbitant fines and at the first sign of a police car, they bundle up and run -- to another corner.

The quotation marks around the brand names is because they are certainly suspect. To be offered a Rolex watch for $10.00, two for $15.00, seems like a bargain you can't refuse and, even if you know it can not possibly be true, your mind tells you the Rolex company would never permit this, so it must be overstocked merchandise ... you're in the right place at the right time ... you'll never have this opportunity again ... and, Christmas is coming.

I left the relative privacy of the doorway and headed north on Broadway away from Times Square. Thirty yards from the first incident, I came upon another ... same blue bundle, man shackled, face down, not even asking to be let up. The policeman was obviously the partner cop number one referred to because he spoke into his walkie talkie saying, "I couldn't get to you, I got one over here. I'm calling the wagon. Don't go 'way."

"Like I could," came loudly over the phone.

It was exactly like watching "Law & Order" or "Cops," it seemed. There was no interaction with us as the audience. The passersby paid no attention. They showed no fear, no concern. No stares, no rubbernecking, just a glance without breaking stride.

However, New Yorkers do pause mid step to back up toward the curb and look at a line from beginning to end to see why all the people are on line. "Must be something going on," says one to the other. "Who's in town? Oh, I know. It's Paul Newman, this is the Booth and he's opening next week in Our Town," she said with a self satisfied look. "It's in preview right now ... gotta get the kinks out."

Hmmmm. Interesting. Paul Newman hasn't been on Broadway since 1964, and although I didn't see him then, I did see him in "Picnic" on Broadway, in the fifties as well as in Tennessee Williams' "Sweet Bird of Youth" -- a role he then reprised in the 1962 motion picture. I joined the line to see if one single seat would be available -- and, it was. It was in the last row next to a pillar (all the better to lean upon) and since the Booth only has 18 rows, being in the last is as good as being mid-orchestra anywhere else. The line moved quickly and the banter was as brisk as the weather, sunny and blustery cold.

Almost every one of us on line had seen the Thornton Wilder play in some form or other. James Stewart played the Stage Director in the movie and every high school in America has presented it at least once during every student's stay there.

Frankly, I didn't really want to see the play again, I wanted to See Paul Newman ... again. One of his talents is to know his age, both on and off screen, and always perform in his real age time. In this performance, he's a septuagenarian, as in real life, concerned that generations to follow would have no idea just how the people in that small community carried on their affairs.

As Newman leans against the wall stage left, the play unfolds. He barely blinks, but every member of the cast knows this master there and performs flawlessly. During his monologues and brief interactions with the cast, he also performs flawlessly, the only difference being he is not acting. He's words are like having a conversation. Once again, Paul Newman is playing himself and we can't get enough of it.

The audience turns out onto the city sidewalks and we know we've just come from Grover's Corners, circa 1903. It was just a small New England town where nothing much ever happened. Life just pushed on day after day. We watched them during the years of their lives, going through all their joys and pains early in the twentieth century.

Now, walking along a rain-slick street, weaving in and out of honking taxicabs, marveling at the holiday lights and bracing ourselves against the wind, we focus on ourselves early in the twenty-first century.

Where their lives pushed on no matter what happened and without their ever questioning it, our lives are being pushed for us, ever forward, and we're always asking questions as if we weren't there: "When did that happen?" or, "What happened?"