New York, New York --
A hell of a town,
The Bronx is up and the Battery's down.
The people ride in a hole in the ground.
New York, New York --
It's a hell of a town.
-Leonard Bernstein
MANNAHATTA.
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-
sufficient,
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships, an
island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong,
light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining
islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the
ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd,
The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses
of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the
river-streets,
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week,
The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the
brown-faced sailors,
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft,
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river,
passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd,
beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes,
Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows,
A million people- manners free and superb- open voices- hospitality-
the most courageous and friendly young men,
City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays! my city!
-Walt Whitman
I am no poet but i can tell you what i liked best! The trip was so much fun and I'm so glad to have experienced New York for the very first time. It's funny that I don't like plays and the Broadway play Avenue Q ended up being highly entertaining and my best experience on the trip! ("It sucks to be" and "everybody's a little bit racist" were among my favorite scenes-the entire play was politically incorrect but had some undeniable societal truths to it + never thought I'd see puppet sex!). The walking got tiring at times but my trusty sneakers solved the problem 100% (great but obvious suggestion Mr. Schechter). They gave me some energy to enjoy the empire state building.
Strawberry Fields was a scene I never thought I'd see- Thank you Sarah! for your talented harmonica playing and free spirit dancing. We sure made that guitar player's day by joining in his act- only LS!! The polar bear at the zoo for whoever saw it was awesome. the broken AC and our 'sleep driving' bus driver made us all wonder if we'd ever make it home but we did! Oh and last thought- Dave you surprised us all (and "conflicted" Ms. Pilch)... you have been the inspiration for The Rudolph Rule for future New York trips (**no nipple piercings).
Thanks again Mr. Schechter for a great and memorable Last Waltz Trip!
My most remember part of the trip was going to the museum of modern art. I have to say other than that I loved the whole trip.
times square is so cool
i am good at haikus woo
woo woo woo woo woo.
Wow, i am embarssed about that poem. I would write a sonnet, but i have no time. But honestly, a poem cannot describe how much NYC RULED. (cheesey, i know) I'm so glad we all got to share the experience together!
I LOVE US!!!!!! and i miss it a lot. buildings are too damn small in sudbury.
I grew up in a frenetic world where there is no time for communication. Society's morales keep on being oriented toward a corrupted and cynical direction; adults are focused on their own problems and they don't take time to listen to kids who are thrown in a world in which what matters is to get into the best college and have the most brilliant carrier.
I always thought of the past generations who fought for their dreams and got united to defend their ideals with jealousy, as I have always seen my generation as an individualist, corrupted and cynical one, without common aspirations not ideals.
It is during a trip in New York though that I discovered that we little people of the future are capable of poignant emotions and of sharing dreams as well.
It is when my teacher looked for me to take my hand and bring me to the tip of the boat in a windy starry night and then pointed out at me with moved eyes the magnificent view of a night-lighted Manhattan from the Ocean that I learned that people can pass on emotions without need of words but only through love. It is when this same teacher spent hours telling me about his childhood in the Bronx, his aspirations as a young student and his dreams, that I felt that trust and generosity and wisdom are still part of this world.
It is when I saw all my friends and myself dancing on The Beatles' songs in the Strawberry Fields, with all the the adults staring at a flourishing youth, that I could believe in the power of our innocence, candor and spontaneous hope.
It is in a strange night in Soho, sat on some random couch in the middle of the street with three other friends, all united in the pain, that I experienced how healing the triumphant power of love is, as never before I felt so close to people as in that moment of suffering and so healed by each other's tears and compassion.
It is indeed thanks to this trip in New York City if now I trust more my generation and believe in virtues such as love, generosity and loyalty that we are capable of and that can make this world a better
East side, west side,
All around the town,
The tots sang "Ring-a-Rosie,"
“London Bridge is Falling Down."
Boys and girls together,
Me and Mamie O'Rourke,
Tripped the light fantastic,
On the sidewalks of New York.
-Old NYC song“We were very tired, we were very merry–
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry...”
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
The Last Waltz
Field Trip to NYC
A train, C train, D train,
Broadway line, 8th avenue,
6th Avenue, the Lex,
red light, green light,
Don’t Walk, Walk,
MoMA, the Met, the Village,
Chinatown, Little Italy,
Zoo time, pizza time, falafel
time, Central Park promenading time,
Empire State perching time
Pale Male watching time (so what did he and Lola
make of us?), essential “where-the-hell-
are we?” time, show time, Ground Zero
our hearts-are-in-that-hole
time, and of course the
“we got a ticket to ride”
time (oh, Imagine!), wandering
the streets of New York City, wandering
into St. Patrick’s Easter service
resurrection, wandering though West-Side
Passover exodus in search of a Promised
Land not called the
Hard Rock Cafe, 10 pm, Sunday, the endless
walking, the pavement rolling out
beneath us, as much as we needed, past
Picasso, Braque, Monet, Munch,
past giant meteors (trying desperately
to contain our own gravitational fields),
past dinosaurs, past mummies,
past grizzlies, past diorama moonlit wolves
running through the
dreams of one little boy from
the Bronx,
all happening here under Grand
Central’s big sky, sliding through harbor
darkness toward Staten Island’s mystic
slip, the Brookline Bridge, the George Washington,
decked out in their diamond
strands, the city of dreams ablaze
before us, dreaming of
the right subway stops, of weather like this
forever, of nipple piercings
(apparently), of sofas appearing like
visions on naked SoHo streets, here the city that
never sleeps, here two sleepless floors
in the 57th Street-Midtown
Holiday Inn, and then it was over,
hungry, tired, thirsty, sitting
on a bus speeding us home, sleeping,
talking, worrying, but there
would be no Rein’s Deli for these weary
pilgrims, no corned beef with a side
of potato salad and sour pickle,
only an exhausted driver fighting to
stay awake, and mostly succeeding,
before we arrived to depart
back to our lives.
Finis.
How many streets must a class walk down,
Before they start to complain?
Yes, 'n' how many hours must the kids stay awake,
Before they sleep in their beds?
Yes, 'n' how many times must we go down the wrong side,
Before we caught the right train?
The answer, my friend, is on the streets of New York,
The answer is on the streets of New York.
How many times must we eat on the run,
Before we ran out of change?
Yes, 'n' how many songs of the Beatles must we hear,
Before we all started to dance?
Yes, 'n' how many sites did it take to realize,
That Sudbury is just way too small?
The answer, my friend, is on the streets of New York,
The answer is on the streets of New York.
How many years can we all stay friends,
Before we forget this great trip?
Yes, 'n' how many pictures did we all snap,
To remind us of our many good times?
Yes, 'n' how many times can one return to the city,
Without recalling '06?
The answer, my friend, is on the streets of New York,
The answer is on the streets of New York.
Before this trip, I never knew New York. I thought I did, but I didn’t. We had only met in passing—a quick glance thrown over the shoulder, a scurrying back to separate lives. New York always seemed so overwhelming, the rush and pace of it. It seemed almost inaccessible. But finally, New York and I stopped in our tracks, staring wide-eyed, staying that way for days.
It’s been a week already and I haven’t forgotten a thing. I still see MoMA and that giant statue of Balzac, head thrown high, and below him Pilch running around excitedly and talking about art, about painters, about different periods and all her classes and times spent dreaming of brushstrokes here and there. We got stuck on the fourth floor and barely made it to the fifth. Pilch told us how her mom would have loved it there, would have loved to see the movement of the paintings, how your eye skips from one place to the next. I hadn’t looked at art that way before.
I still see Chinatown. Sushi and Fosca’s famous line, “You dirt my white shirt.” Wandering around buying cheap sunglasses. Forming ‘Hat Club’ in the basement of Louis Vuitton. And Central Park—I still wish I were lying in the sunshine listening to Sarah’s harmonica, listening to that friendly guy’s guitar. I still remember Wheylan, the most talented hula hooper. He did some tricks for a lady taking pictures and we danced in the background. I bet it was a great picture.
On the ferry to Staten Island, watching the water shining all around us, I remember thinking that I wouldn’t mind staying, indefinitely maybe, who knows. The Brooklyn bridge falling away from us, the distance growing, New York majestic and illuminated against the night. That night we saw the statue of Liberty with fresh eyes, the eyes of relatives and immigrants with dreams laid out before them, tears behind them, small suitcases resting at their feet. We wished dreams like this could always be realized, not torn apart and fallow. We wished for that vision of liberty to become reality. We dropped our wishes into the water like a wishing well.
And then that last night in SoHo, it seemed to me like one vast sea of life, with all the craziness and suggestiveness washed upon its shores. Galleries, bookstores, real food for the first time in days. And more than that, real feelings. These days it seems like anything too real is frightening; I watch people shrink from the truth like it’s poisonous. But we didn’t, that night. We sat on a couch in SoHo, tears hot against our faces and the city stretched out like a sparkling glowing blanket.
This trip was honestly “daaa best,” to quote a famous French Italian. There really isn’t any other way to describe it, is there?
Did you see the NYC I saw?
I saw cracks in the sidewalk
I saw the heels ahead
I saw reaching out to the different
I saw staircases
I saw rough terrain
I saw big shapes
I saw textures
I saw determination, generosity, and openness
I saw colors
I saw curbs and potholes
I saw caution tape and knee-high chains
I saw lights
I saw gestures and expressions
I saw running away from the different
I saw communication, bonding, and learning
I saw places to sit
I saw ramps, elevators, and tiny bumps
I saw headphone jacks
I saw teaching, sharing, and growing
I saw what couldn't be seen
I saw what isn't seen
I saw what others missed\
-Nyssa Patten
New York Self-Portrait / mixed media, 2007
This work of art by Hannah Mode, '07, was inspired
by the trip. It won a Gold Key Award in the Boston Globe
Art Competition, 2007.
Recuerdo
We were very tired, we were very merry-
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable-
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hilltop underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
We were very tired, we were very merry-
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
We were very tired, we were very merry-
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and the pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay