Sorry it took so long, but life has a way of intruding. Plus one is never satisfied. Some writers die before the publish their masterpiece.
Chapter 1 - Uptown Girl
Coming
Home
I got in to JFK from Paris well after
midnight. Travel west is always easier
than east. I catch up much faster. Just stay awake most of the way, doze
fitfully for an hour or so, and then stay up till normal bed time. If you arrive home at 2 or 3 AM, it is
already too late. Sure the traffic is
better, but even your friends are too tired to be cordial.
So here I am noon, already past. My eyes
hurt. Dizzy, that’s the word for my head
and a bit nauseous. Opening my bedroom window
is always the bright spot of the day.
Today is no different. The Park
is there, green or maybe greening toward its full beauty. Thankfully the sun is behind me. Tomorrow is soon enough for a sunrise.
“Ever been to New York’s Central
Park?” It is seldom first on the list of
sights one plans when coming to “the City!”
For me it is the number 1! If it
was not here, I could not live in New York.
You can see just so much asphalt, concrete, steel and glass. At first the excuse for New York was the
proximity of my agent and publisher, then I rented in Soho, but now the Park is
my back yard. Yes I have to share it,
but there are times, when the grass and trees are all mine. No one ever tells me to get off the grass, or
not to lie on my back to stare at the sky with its clouds or stars. Sure I can’t store my barbecue there. But isn’t that what roves are for. We have a wooden deck up there off our
bedroom and a small breakfast kitchen.
Another escape we access almost daily.
The Park is a magnificent place! Surely, there are more famous parks. It is not just living across the street. Central Park has almost everything you need. The point is we intend to tell a story about
New York, its park and its people.
On a visit here, you can feel the
spirits of William Cullen Bryant, Frederick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux who
conceived the “Greensward Plan” as a focal point for “a city of the world” in
1844. These guys were the architects of
their era, setting the standards that most in the US followed. Together they began to pressure the city to
development a park. Another ghost that still
patrols the paths, frequents favorite benches or relaxes on patches of grass is
Andrew Haskell Green who finished the park when Olmstead fell out of favor and
lost control of its development. Lastly,
the little flower, Fiorello LaGuardia, and his pal, Robert Moses who rescued the
remnants from decline in the 1930’s peak out from behind a tree when you least
expect it.. Their stewardship gave the Park
its current form and vitality.
For the second most expensive city in
the world, the place is really big. It
occupies 153 square city blocks in area, 51 short blocks north to south and 3
long blocks east to west. I know for I
have run most of its paths and roads in another life. Recently we walked the place to fill in the
blanks in this story and it took us several days to see only a fraction of what
the place has to offer.I wanted to see and photograph the places where our
characters played out their lives for a while.
Often memories are not true to life.
But
this isn’t about you and me. That is for
“The Wild” to tell.
To build the park it took the
contractors 500,000 cubic yards of top soil alone to erase the forts and small
hamlets that were all or partially eliminated in this massive undertaking. Names like Harsenville, Seneca Village, The
Piggery District and the Convent of the Sisters of Charity are no longer in
anyone’s memory. I had to go to the
Central Park’s website and the library system to know about what was there
before the park.
Having managed a building project in
Greenwich Village years ago, I knew the sources of information on historical
buildings and landfills. You would never
imagine what the early New Yorkers used to make more property to build on. Check it out.
The City was not so big when it started.
Yes it is all bed rock in the north of the island, but the battery is
all silt and junk no one wanted. Even
the hulls of boats were filled with garbage to weight them down when they no
longer wanted to float by themselves.
Ask an urban archeologist. The
first place they look for is an abandoned well that became a garbage pit when
the water was too polluted to drink. Dig
a foundation in lower Manhattan and you will have herds of consultants specializing
in everything you can think of and a whole lot you would never consider
valuable.
Riverside Park might have more green on
the map, but with Riverside Drive and the rail right-of-way right down the
middle you can guess how it compares to Central Park. Central Park has its cross-town traffic, but
the developers took this into consideration placing the several streets below
grade and scattering a multitude of bridges to cross this and other natural
impediments to the city’s inhabitants. In
fact some bridges just make a way for a path to pas underneath. Some of New York’s more picturesque personages
spend their nights in one of these snug covers.
The Park has something for everyone: gardens,
historical markers, skating, baseball, softball, soccer, migrating birds, food,
relaxation, and of course a small zoo. I
am no longer deterred from publishing by the deceptions Disney’s cartoonists
provided when they began their juggernaut in a zoo that only shared the same
name. They took some serious liberties
in character development and structural configuration. But then don’t we all, when necessary?
The Zoo or better the Central Park
Wildlife Center is in the southeast corner of the park area. You can see the Plaza hotel, FAO Schwartz and
various other famous landmarks and shops from the corner of 59th
Street and 5th Avenue, plus catch a Handsome Cab there to see the
whole place slowly but surely. Simon and
Garfunkel publicized the Zoo in the 60’s, giving it fanciful characters and
happenings to ponder with their song “At the Zoo”. It is truly “a light and tumble journey from
the east side to the park, just to have a fancy ramble to the zoo.” “But you can take the cross-town bus, if its
rainy or its cold, and the animals will love it if you do!” That says it all. The Central Park Wildlife Center is well
planned and utilizes its space to the fullest, giving the City the most from
the area available.
All in all, New York and New Yorkers are
lucky to have a world class landmark with no political overtones to mar its
beauty and usefulness. The rest of the
world should see it as more than Madagascar’s birthplace.
That said; let us get on with the story.
Having just returned from a visit to
friends in the Russia, I find a drama unfolding in the Park. It seems I was part of this story earlier
this spring on a trip to the mountains of Arizona. You’ll have to wait a bit for that story for
the current drama has center stage right now.
The rest is just notes and some pleasant memories for future reference. Let us visit my friend and neighbor, John
Royce Sedgewick IV.
Good
Morning New York
“Mountain Lions in Central Park! Stop by and see one up close and
personal.” Sedgewick put down his latest
article. ‘Who would have thought we’d have some here in the city? The Zoo has done it again!’
“What time is it?”
In his office at the New York’s Courier
News, John Sedgewick settled back in his chair.
“Freedom!” The word was
now imbedded in his mind. Janet’s voice
had barely died away. “The kid can
think. Too bad her father is such an ass. Janet would be the pride of any family but
his. There are problems in all
families. In the Van Geller clan thereis
Phillip.
If Phillip wasn’t so set on breeding an
heir he would be responsible for her too.
In his own way I guess you could say he was responsible. It is too bad my cousin never loved his wife,
only the idea of his family name enhanced by hers. Phillip’s mistake lies in protecting his
privileges in life, not his family.” Sedgewick closed his eyes, drawing a deep
breath. He exhaled through his teeth
making a hissing sound at the picture of his cousin in his mind’s eye.
John stood and turned to the night
outside. “Janet my girl, you will just
have to be loved by your Uncle John.” He
turned leaving hand prints to be cleaned on the window panes.
Only the lights from the depressed
inner-floor area, ‘the Pit’ of the old manufacturing building illuminated his
glass office enclosure. The two story mill
windows in the far wall were pitch black; with only the few remaining lights
from other nearby taller buildings creating the stars of his universe. “This is what you call being alone?”
Sedgewick dug his hands in his
pockets. “I like it here! It is safe and I can leave my world, as I
want it. Everyone needs a place to hide
when living gets too tough. There is no
one at home I really want to see.”
The window behind his desk was brighter
as he looked up the Island. In the
Village there were many smaller houses and low buildings, their lights signaled
that someone was still up in New York. John
stared without real purpose into space, and then shook himself.
“What am I doing here? It is after midnight.”
The night crew was scouring today’s international
papers and a multitude of web sites for some tidbits of news to put into their
copy. Maybe they would get something in
the filler spaces. “Ah youth! They have hopes beyond their history. When you have no history, you can be really
optimistic. Out there each young mind
hopes that something will happen to change their boredom into excitement. An idea, a mistake uncovered, or the actions
of someone of note that could lead to as story of a more import, something,
anything; that is all they want, hoping to be heard.”
“Let
it happen before I leave! Then I won’t
have to go home.”
Margo called an hour ago to find out
when John was coming home. She was
irritated as usual. “We never agreed
to meet tonight. I am tired of her
thinking she owns my time.”
Then out of his mind popped the kid’s question. John tried to put the thought away. One must understand such a concept; to
Sedgewick there was no frame of reference.
“Freedom!” His life was one of privilege from his
earliest memories until high school and his mother’s deranged ideas of social
interaction. Since then, John earned his
way, but then not completely. There was
always the family behind the scenes waiting to help out, his extended family
waiting in the shadows to welcome him back into obscurity.
Earlier Sedgewick saw Janet’s name in
the cell ID line. “Uncle John, another
suicide bomber just boarded a bus in Tel Aviv and detonated a bomb. He killed
himself and many Palestinians and Israelis.”
“For what reason, Uncle John? … Why do
they kill themselves? What benefit is
there in being dead?”
“Who knows for sure, Snake? … What
the hell can I tell her? Only the bomber
knows!”
“He
thought he was serving a higher purpose, maybe?
I guess he or she expects to be rewarded by God? … That sounds so lame.”
“Who says? Who makes it right, Uncle John? I want to know!”
The
international was never Sedgewick’s copy.
He was New York City, and maybe some State action, but that was it. John haphazardly called up the wire copy on
the incident and read several non-published analyses. Then he looked at the mainstream. The opinions were very widely disparate. The Arab press was ablaze with the claims of
the militants. An independent Palestine,
with sole possession of the Temple Mount and the Dome of the Rock. That was their goal. They demanded an end to settlements on the
West Bank of the Jordan and Gaza. No
cost to mankind was too high.
The
US Right Wing was calling any Israeli retaliation justified. The new Israeli wall pleased many
hardliners. (No one said there was a
middle ground.) Settlements were being
encouraged in the West Bank and discouraged at the same time in Gaza. The Israeli government was more divided than
ever. Moderates were virtually
non-existent, but those who wrote called for a return to the peace process, to
Camp David or the Clinton Road Map. Some
were citing the more recent accords that were never even attempted to implement
by either side.
“Hell the plans they are sighting became
bankrupt with the death of Manichean Begin years ago. The currently powerful made quick work of
dismantling any peace accords. Without
support from Syria, Iran and others with local interests there is no hope of
settlement. Who do you blame, everyone? … Each argument is so simple and so
slanted. Not one deals in facts, just
emotion. Yes for a believer emotion can
make anything into a fact. For the
powerful, any emotion can serve personal purposes. After all, power is everything and can buy anything.”
John clicked off his search engine and
closed his computer. “Discouraging! I don’t blame Janet. I do not understand either. Maybe Jane Goodall is right, primates do have
an innate need to kill, to intimidate?
She called it the Demonic Male Hypothesis. The final analysis may be quite
different. Others say human pressure,
encroachment, hunting, crowding, all contribute to an increase in violence
among apes. It all makes good
sense. Without humans there seems to be
less aggression in the ‘Wild’. Maybe it
is true for humans too? Without
politicians, people seem to get along just fine.”
Sedgewick glanced at a note from his
secretary. Katy was following his lead
on the new exhibit at the zoo. She asked
him to look at a book called Beast in the Garden. Katy suggested it would give another insight
into the effects of human pressures on predatory wildlife. He fingered her synopsis. Reading would have to wait. The two young lions would soon be safely in
the confines of the zoo, no danger to the public.
The sky outside the office was dark and
cloudless now as John stood at the window and stared out. The dull glow of the city below lit the
street like a giant nightlight in a child’s bedroom. Sedgewick was alone, deep in thought. He turned and the night staff in “the pit”
appeared like magic. “Good group of
kids!”
They
were busy with personal Internet searches, writing e-mails in boredom and
fooling around to pass the time now.
Each was just waiting for a call or the end of the shift, the search for
the dreamed of ‘scoop’ discarded for tonight.
The child had returned to dash around and play with the young crowd.
“New York is still in the doldrums. Everything snowballed since 911. It seems as though the US commercial
establishment will still crater any day.
Our dollar is sliding like a greased pig to $2 to a British Pound. It hasn’t been that devalued since I was a
kid. The market could go either way and
no economist has yet come out confirming a recovery. As usual the whole world is poised to cheer
at the demise of the US. The war in Iraq
is over, but the war for Iraq has yet to begin.
The US and its remaining friends have to bring freedom and democracy to
a bunch of unrelated tribal groups spread over several countries. But no one seems to have a workable, well
thought out plan. Many groups that are
serious about Iraq’s new government have no desire to create a democracy, but
to replace Saddam with their own brand of management.”
“Willy was evacuated from Iran when
Carter pulled the US magic carpet out from under the Shah. He says the Shaw was not such a bad guy
compared to Khomeini who started the hate fest with the US. Hell he tried to eradicate intelligence right
off the bat. Slapped all the women in
chadors. After that he fought with Iraq
and lowered the population in quick order.
He wanted to go back to the days of Moizadegh. And I guess he did quite well at it
population-wise.”
Sedgewick looked at the faded color on
the windowsill. “It’s been a long time
since someone dusted.” He wrote the word
in the dust: FREEDOM.
“The only bright spot is for me is the
Zoo. Maybe there is an angle there to
encourage the city’s people. Could be I
can drop a few hints and get the people rolling, despite the politicians. It works when someone screws up. Why not try something positive, for a change? Ted’s doing a good job, but it would be fun to
do something to help.”
Last evening John finished a week of
articles on the latest infighting between the City Chief Engineer and one of
the borough presidents. A building
permit was bouncing back and forth between each camp, as the developers were
courted for political support by various city power brokers. His examples were all couched in penetrating
questions, never using a direct statement.
“There is a rumor going around about
someone using a public office for political ends. Is this reasonable? What do you think should be done?”
Finally Sedgewick sighted a similar case
where, when proved, the City was successfully sued for a substantial sum by an
out of town developer. “Does anyone
remember what happened in West Side Manor case?
Our loyal politicos, maybe they don’t?”
“What will happen if the rumors about
this delay are really true? Can New York
afford to give money away when we are not sure if we can balance the budget
with the revenues we have? Will the
State bail us out forever? Maybe, maybe
not! Many Up-state would gladly sell
Manhattan to a Saudi Prince to cut their tax burden. I hear you can hardly get a visa to the US as
a tourist any more. Who is going to fill
our hotels? Don’t we need all our tax
dollars for things we need?”
Here he stopped. John would let the people and the City
Council think this one through. He would
wait and see if someone ‘raised hell’ about the obvious. The calls were coming in with their usual blend
of indignation, support and some anger from official spokespersons. John knew he could count on the current mayor
to force the issue.
“Freedom!” The word stared back at Sedgewick. “I have to give Janet a better
answer.”
“What does it really mean to be
free? Is anybody really free? I’m free, right?”
The Pit erupted in laughter and then one
of the girls screamed. The sound of feet
running and the continuation of the laughter were a minute’s distraction.
“I have money, fame, a few good friends,
and a great home, no need to own a car and personal travel when I wish. What more do I need?”
He turned back to the window.
“OK, let’s play Devil’s Advocate. Fat and happy is what you are! If you want to ditch work for a week, could
you?”
“Well no! Gary goes bananas when I miss one
editorial. To leave, I have to write a bunch
of columns and get them approved before I buy the tickets. It is always the worst product I create,
too.”
“Well guy, you could always quit
right! You don’t need the money. Several people would give you a job without
this pressure.”
“Hey, I work because I want too.”
“That’s right, you don’t belong to a
club, no church work, education is behind you, and philanthropy is handled for
you by others, no nothing else to hold you back. Not bad, huh?”
“What about meetings, press conferences,
midnight calls and there’s always Margo.
She is not an obligation, but she controls your life. What are you going to do there? What makes you think you are free?”
“Listen, I like what I do. The calls rescue me sometimes. I hate to leave the job. Going home to watch TV is not for me. I hate eating out without someone I
like. My neighbors are not really
friendly. They want me to hang with them
because of my celebrity. I guess I am
trapped by my choices.”
“OK, enough about me. Let’s get back to the current question. Why would a guy walk into certain death for a
cause? Who could and why would they
encourage this? Yeah, who could talk a
young person with their whole life ahead of him or herself into dying and why? If the cause is so just, so much a benefit to
God and man, then why not be the martyr yourself? Why give the glory to the young? There is something awfully fishy about a zealot
who won’t strap on the explosives to him or herself.”
“What a waste of talented people.” The New York Times article John read a few
days ago analyzed suicide bombers, finding them to be mostly educated and
intelligent previous to their act of violence or martyrdom. John already knew the answer, but the process
of putting it into words was not as easy.
It would be a while, but John knew he could find the phrases. The thought needed a definition that made sense.
The window now reflected Sedgewick and
he looked at himself. The shock of sandy
hair combed over from the side to hide where it was thinning. His form wasn’t bad for a guy in his
forties. The health club and running
track in both high school and university didn’t hurt him.
John could tell that some of the women he
met found him to be interesting. He
wasn’t handsome, “maybe distinguished is a better descriptive?”
Sedgewick knew there was a better match
than Margo, but how to ease her out gently.
His family knew hers and that was always sticky. “It’s late now. Well, maybe she has gone
home by now?”
His reverie dissolved as the phone rang
again. John looked at it: 12, 13, 14
rings, then silence. Then his cell began
to vibrate in his jacket pocket. “Margo
is still at my place. Maybe I’ll take a
room somewhere? She and I are like a bad
marriage already. She doesn’t even notice
when I am not passionate, just a cursory peck on the cheek is enough for
her. What the hell does she want from
me?”
Sedgewick shook the ugly vision from his
mind. “For now my passion will be the
Zoo, the new cats will arrive tomorrow evening.
Yeah! Everybody needs a break
from the negative, even me!”
The Zoo’s flyer on the Puma he picked up
last Sunday showed a large lean cat with color varying from black above its
eyes and pointed ear tips to a golden brown almost all gold on the sides and haunches. A spotted kitten lay peacefully beside its
mother.
“I want to see this beast for
myself. Chastain told me he got to see several
first hand earlier this Spring on a camping trip in Arizona. Must have been something. His story should be
written down, but then Willy is pretty busy these days. Hmmm! … The mature cat is beautiful. It seems to be without fear and triumphant gazingout over its territory.”
Turning back to his desk, John fingered
the brochure lying just to his right. The pages went on to talk about the
shrinking range of the Puma. ‘The
mountain lion had one of the most extensive distributions of all American
terrestrial mammals. It ranged from coast to coast in North and South America,
and from southern Argentina to northern British Columbia. Hunting pressure and
environmental changes have restricted their range to relatively mountainous,
unpopulated areas.’ A footnote said
this was a quote from a preservation society’s website. John made a note to himself to look up some
more data on the American Lion and visit the site.
“That lion seems to embody the sense of
freedom we all strive for. But soon they
will be hemmed in and restrained like the rest of us. Teddy Roosevelt wanted the Grisly as our
national symbol, but I am for replacing the Eagle with this Noble Cat.”
John folded his reading glasses and put
on his trifocals. He made his way to the
door, waving and abusing the kids about not finding anything valuable.
“Get your butts to work please. I’m going home. Maybe the TV news will be an improvement
tonight. See you!”
Raspberries sounded behind him as some
paper balls hit the wall to his right, inducing John to wave without turning as
he stepped through the door to the stairs.
Zoo takes a bold step,
read the headline on John Sedgewick’s column in the New York Courier News for
May 16:
The Central Park Zoo’s rapid changing of
exhibits originally met with questions from the Zoological community. Their success in drawing in the public has
quieted most of the critics. Now
bringing two yearling mountain lions to New York to be housed in the former
primate enclosure is subject to question as well. Let’s hope the idea works, for I have learned
to love our Zoo again after a million years of avoiding it when I was in
Central Park.
Ted Daniel has done a great job and the
support of New Yorkers is a testament to his clairvoyance. This reporter seldom says anything without a
slice of sarcasm. The only sarcasm here
is for the status quo proponents of the Zoo World who are not willing to step
outside the envelope in which they have lived for so long. A Zoo the size of Central Park’s needs a hook
to fill its avenues. Other larger Zoos
have shear volume, but we need imagination and assistance, not criticism.
The column
went on to quote several articles on the American Lion. He followed with a
description of the creature, its range and prey animals. Finally John discussed the future of the lion
working his way from its original population to its current reduced
situation.
“Fear and
economics combined to produce an extermination campaign that eliminated, until
recently, the American Lion from many areas.
But in some areas they have come back on their own. In others adults have been seeded to
naturally control the deer and other animal populations like wolves in others.”
“No they are
not endangered now, but they are protected.”
John’s
research to date was shotgun, done on his own.
This morning he asked the research group for some detailed data by
tomorrow. John believed he would have
better understanding of this species after reading their report. Plus there was
still the Beast in the Garden to read.
He penned a note for Kathy to buy a copy when she had a chance.
John headed home to hear what ever
waited just inside his door.
Black
Bird in the April sky
Earlier that year and across the United
States, morning dawned with bright sunshine all over the Sinagua Mountain and
River Valley. Arizona never looked so
beautiful. A yearling mountain lion
strolled around the great rock outside its den.
From her perch high above the treed valley, Kena could survey her
world. Her family felt safe here. High on the mountain’s south face, their
cliff was a great place to see prey.
“The deer and smaller animals never look up. We will hunt today. There will be food.”
Then the great black bird flew overhead
again. Mama left to hunt without her
children. Tag and Kena wandered out of
the cave after Mama left. Both knew they
shouldn’t. The black bird was too interesting
to miss. The bird returned and hovered
above them. It never flapped its wings,
just stood still in the sky screaming in the heavy wind. Kena was the first back in the den. Peering out, she saw the bird drop out of
sight over the western edge of their mountain.
Then it flew up again far to the west across the valley and disappeared.
Strange things were happening often
now. She could remember her mother and
the human during a hunting trip. Their
mother seemed drawn to him. They stared
at this thing as it emerged from a small cave.
Then all ran away. Mama just left
without them yesterday and now again today.
This was not normal. It was time
for young lions to go out alone. She and
Tag asked about it often.
The bird gone for now, Kena and Tag
settled down to wait for Mama to return with dinner. The sound of a branch breaking was all the
young animals heard then BANG, Bang, BBBAAAAANNNNNNGGGGGG!!!!!! Kena was up and out like a shot, but a strong
spider web caught and held her. The net
forced the puma cub to the ground, her face skidding on the hard rock
surface. Legs struggling to be free,
Kena lay helpless, growling for all she was worth. There was a sharp pain in her hip, and then
complete silence descended on her mind.
Kena found she could not move.
Finally there was nothing, only sleep.
“Harry, I thought she was gone?”
“Yes, I thought so too. Those guys are pushing too hard for this
relocation. Now I have lost a strong female.”
“What will happen now?”
“Willy, this den is known by several
other females she gave birth to in the past.
One will take her mother’s place.
Your run in with the male and then her visit to your camp are all wrong
in the wild. I still say there is
something I cannot explain without thinking of my ancestors’ tales.”
“I know there has been something bugging
me all the while. This capture, you said
I should never come here. Then you asked
me to come with you. You confuse me
Harry!”
“Don’t worry about it, just superstition.
It is over here for now. Let’s get the rest of the travelers and head
back to the ranch. This will be a big
item for most of them to remember. The wild
animal park is set to put the young cats in isolation to recover. We just have to get them back east and
released quickly. Too much time with
people is no good.”
The small group of park personnel
gathered their things and with two furry packages headed to their trucks below
Kena’s mountain.
