You Need to Be a Part of It...New York, New York

It's May 2008. I get on the plane wondering, "what the heck have I agreed to here?" Laura kept reassuring me that I would not be robbed at gunpoint as soon as we stepped off the plane. It was her idea to take me to New York. I would have been just fine on a boat in the Keys or putting away some cold ones in the mountains. Nope. I gave it a shot. All the stereotypes swelled in my head..."all yankees are rude, New York is too big, its too cold, its a crime ridden cess pool of blacktop and honking horns..." You know, all the things that so many Southerners say about New York their entire lives...without actually setting foot in any state further north than Tennessee.

I had been warned before I left.

"Boy, you better get a permit and carry a Glock upair (up there) cause they'll knife you for sure!"

Getting "knifed" is a wonderful old school Southern word. I remember when the old men used to talk about a bar that existed near Kingston, Georgia. It was the kind of place where they swept up the teeth on the floor at the end of every night and shady deals were done over shots of liquor. Even the cops stayed away. I asked Billy if he ever went in there...

"Hayul (Hell) no! That place was rough, boy. They shoot ya, or sh*t, they'd knife ya for just looking crossways in there."

If Kingston (pop. 2,000 plus 4,000 cows) was so bad, there is no telling what New York City (pop. 9,000,000) would be like. I was likely to get knifed in a hurry, since we actually landed in Newark, New Jersey. New Jersey, according to most Southerners, is simply giant prison with oil refineries and nobody is nice. In fact, it's against the law. We gathered our luggage and walked outside to catch a cab to NYC. I fully expected the cold Northern air to freeze me solid, like Han Solo in carbonite.  My Dad would have to fly the Millenium Falcon to Jersey and bust me out. Lo and behold, it was 75 degrees. The cabbie was a really nice man from Ghana, who took us through the Lincoln Tunnel and into Manhattan. Before we hit the Tunnel, he said, "now you will see the skyline to your left." It materialized before my eyes. I probably looked like a 5 year old with my face smashed into the glass. I had never seen anything like it in my life. (that's what she said!) I always thought Atlanta was big, but I quickly realized that you could fit 10 Atlantas in NYC and not notice it.

He turned down by Grand Central Station and went to 48th Street, where our hotel was located. As I opened my door, I looked for stray knives flying through the air or packs of thugs prepared to rob us as soon as we hit the pavement. There were none. There was no snow either. A nice doorman assisted us with our bags, called me "sir" and said "Welcome to New York." I quickly took off my helmet, flak jacket, my bandolier of 50 cal. rounds and threw away my Mace and the Life Alert I had dangling from my neck. We unpacked our suitcases and threw ourselves to the mercy of the city, electing to head north to see Grand Central.

The next five days were five of the most wonderful days I have ever spent in my life. It started at Grand Central and ended when I watched the skyline disappear in the rearview heading back to Jersey. Every stereotype, everything I had ever heard about New York that would turn you off, was dead wrong. I rode the subway without incident, in fact, it was one of the most efficient mass transit systems I have ever seen. I wasn't hassled by homeless every three steps...the same cannot be said for Atlanta, that's for sure. I remember I was only begged for money once, and a giant Italian beat cop walked over and told the man to "get lost." He apologized to me and said, "that don't go around here." That's another saying from back home and it warmed the heart, it really did. I almost asked him if he would say, "Leave the gun, take the cannolis" but I did not want to push my luck. (+1 for the Godfather reference) In any event, I never felt unsafe. I would go as far to say that I would rather walk down 5th Avenue at 4 AM than Glade Road in Acworth, Georgia.

Speaking of food, if you are a hungry man like me, then New York is your place. Amongst my friends, my appetite is quite legendary. I was like a pig in slop. Hot dogs and pizza (the best ever) on the street, steak and fish in the restaurants, the best sushi ever.....hell, I even tried a knish, which was not so good. I got verklempt and ended up looking like a schlemiel. (+2 for Saturday Night Live and Independence Day reference) Little Italy was a small slice of heaven for yours truly. A real cannoli made by real Italians, with older Italian guys hanging around the front door of the restaurant like Goodfellas. Another group was watching harness races on a giant television with cigars in every single mouth. As I walked out, I said, "y'all have a good one, fellas." One of them exclaimed, "hey, listen to the manners on this one, hey, youse come back anytime!" Oh I will, Salvatore, I will. (That's what I imagined his name to be)

I did the all tourist stuff. The Empire State building. Rockefeller Center. NBC Studios. Central Park. All very worthwhile and I actually saw where Sinead O'Connor burned that picture of the Pope on SNL in the early 90's. I always liked her music, I ain't gonna lie, but what a moron. Speaking of Catholicism, I also went to St. Patrick's Cathedral. A very moving experience for this Baptist, I can assure you. I' ve been to New York six times since and I go to St. Patrick's every single time. After St. Patrick's, I realize a few things...I haven't been robbed yet, I'm still not frozen and not one single person has been rude to me. In fact, I was taking a stroll by myself one morning and got on the subway to go downtown. I got lost and pulled out a map. Within seconds, three New Yorkers were telling me exactly where I should go. "Where are you from?" they would say chuckling. I would tell them and they would reply, "We hope you really enjoy New York and have fun!" You think that would happen in Atlanta? Hell to the naw, Bobby.

The bar/nightlife scene is incomparable. No, really, I felt like a freshman in Athens again, I was so excited.  Except I was going to places that had been in business since 1925 and Joe Dimaggio used to drink dry martinis there or Mickey Mantle had a beer there after a three home run game. I call my Mom and Dad and tell them that I just sat in a booth where Frank Sinatra had a drink in 1947. I cannot get over the history of these places. Strangely, everybody gets along too. There were no bar fights, no drama, no old grudges being settled and the NYPD showing up and throwing everybody out. (the last three times I've been out in Atlanta, there was a fight in the bar) I went to the oldest bar in the United States, a place called McSorley's. I sat down and ordered a beer and the bartender, hearing my Cassville drawl, said "What part of Brooklyn are YOU from?" I knew I would love this place and I had about twenty new friends by the end of the night.

So, with every stereotype basically destroyed, all I had left was a town with insanely good food, an incomparable nightlife, decent weather, history around every corner, and very nice people who are fiercely proud of their town. Kind of like back home, except for the nightlife. Trying to steal road signs in Manhattan would be next to impossible and it's pretty hard to roll a brownstone on 54th Street with 25,000 people looking at you. That being said, we are not all that different, Southerners and New Yorkers. We are proud of who we are and do not apologize for it. Their lifestyle may not suit you, but I encourage any Southerner to give it a chance, I promise you will not regret it.

Just don't get a damn knish......oy vey.