Thursday, September 21, 2006
Step outside and into adventure – bus ride to Javits Center
LOOKING AHEAD by Wally Dobelis
It was starting to rain when I headed for the 14 Street cross-town bus, destination Jacob Javits Convention Center. No one was waiting at the 3rd Ave. stop, and I resigned to a lengthy vigil, until a young Hispanic woman rolled up, in a wheelchair. We exchanged nods, and she positioned herself at the front entrance.
When the bus came, the driver instantly rolled out the lift platform, pavement level, and she wheeled herself on it, to be raised up. But at the top, the driver realized that she had a wide hand-propelled vehicle, and his front-seat slot was already occupied by another chair; they exchanged words, and the platform descended, the passenger rolled to the rear entrance of the long folding bus. The entire transaction was handled in no more than two minutes, a far cry from the old days and a great improvement to the old back- of- the- bus lift mechanics.
When we the mobile passengers entered – by now there were several – I saw that the other wheelchair person was a tiny frail lady, about ninety, with an attendant. When her departure time came, the attendant loosened the quick-release straps and lowered the seats that the lady’s small motorized vehicle had occupied, and the passenger smartly wheeled herself out, positioned correctly at the door, the two passengers were lowered on the lift platform (front flap folded up to avoid accidental roll off, then folded down at ground level) and she drove away, not a hitch nor plaint. Brave New Yorkers, we have nothing to worry about, we can handle anything.
Then it occurred to me that the bus was filled with mainly elderly people, in fact nothing but (it was Friday midday), moving on and off without problems, coping with rain and packages. For one, all the seniors are adept with Metrocards, getting them in and out of purses without delays – time is more valuable when you get older. Further, there were less big shoulder bags and more small backpacks in use, not just the ordinary kind – these are equipped with wheels and long telescoped handles. The shoulder straps are folded up, and umbrellas are tucked into the space behind. These lightweight contraptions are easily maneuvered, do not occupy much floor space in the bus and make the carrying of small shopping packages a nothing task My generations seem to be adapting to changes and ergonomic improvements with ease, I’m proud to say.
The driver had volunteered to point out where to get the 10th Ave bus to Javits, but my #14 veered south on Hudson Street, which enters from the south and ends at 9th Ave, and I had to ask again, at the trianular stop. He apologized and pointed out the #11 bus, moving north on 9th Ave, then west on 14th Street, that would take me west to and along 10th Ave. I caught the next one, it was a compact new short bus, and the young woman driver had no idea of the Javits Center (11th Ave, covering several mid- 30s blocks), and guessed at 34th Street. It was her first day on the route, as substitute. “Sweetie, they just gave you a bus route and told you to look for stops?” I teased, and she affirmed. Jointly we scanned the route for the stop, found it, and wished each other not to get lost.
Getting out to the far western parts of our neighborhood is like visiting a distant planet. If our center is ST/PCV, and the four parks form the main planets, this is Pluto. Here is a different world – the huge Western Beef market on 14th Street, and the meat packing district (I don’t know whether the outside assembly lines of moving hooks for beef carcasses still exist, they used to be quite a sight), and the steak houses, then 10th Ave with its 24 –hour taxicab repair shops, good places to know. A lot of the tall buildings, many quite modern, are warehouses – I was focusing on the prop rental agency and stage scenery storage firms, the instruments of wealth creation in our post-industrial service economy. And they are busy – forklift trucks chugging along the streets, into long warehouse aisles.
Arriving at the yawningly empty rain-washed glass giant Convention Center after an hour and a half, mostly bus time way above the estimate), I found my objective, the ILAB Antiquarian Book Fair, tucked in a tiny fraction of the vast space, and had some pleasant chats with visitors from far away, the venerable Maggs Bros and Bernard Quaritch emporiums in London, some Dutch and French firms, Ken Lopez and Peter Howard from the West Coast as well as Boston and New York folk. Standing in front of cheerful-looking long bookcases filled with international treasures of five centuries priced in the thousands, they were quite nonchalant about the lack of visitors; Saturday and Sunday were still ahead. Despite the execrable balance of trade, dollar is still the currency and New York is Action Central. But time was short, and I had to move on. More about books anon.
It was starting to rain when I headed for the 14 Street cross-town bus, destination Jacob Javits Convention Center. No one was waiting at the 3rd Ave. stop, and I resigned to a lengthy vigil, until a young Hispanic woman rolled up, in a wheelchair. We exchanged nods, and she positioned herself at the front entrance.
When the bus came, the driver instantly rolled out the lift platform, pavement level, and she wheeled herself on it, to be raised up. But at the top, the driver realized that she had a wide hand-propelled vehicle, and his front-seat slot was already occupied by another chair; they exchanged words, and the platform descended, the passenger rolled to the rear entrance of the long folding bus. The entire transaction was handled in no more than two minutes, a far cry from the old days and a great improvement to the old back- of- the- bus lift mechanics.
When we the mobile passengers entered – by now there were several – I saw that the other wheelchair person was a tiny frail lady, about ninety, with an attendant. When her departure time came, the attendant loosened the quick-release straps and lowered the seats that the lady’s small motorized vehicle had occupied, and the passenger smartly wheeled herself out, positioned correctly at the door, the two passengers were lowered on the lift platform (front flap folded up to avoid accidental roll off, then folded down at ground level) and she drove away, not a hitch nor plaint. Brave New Yorkers, we have nothing to worry about, we can handle anything.
Then it occurred to me that the bus was filled with mainly elderly people, in fact nothing but (it was Friday midday), moving on and off without problems, coping with rain and packages. For one, all the seniors are adept with Metrocards, getting them in and out of purses without delays – time is more valuable when you get older. Further, there were less big shoulder bags and more small backpacks in use, not just the ordinary kind – these are equipped with wheels and long telescoped handles. The shoulder straps are folded up, and umbrellas are tucked into the space behind. These lightweight contraptions are easily maneuvered, do not occupy much floor space in the bus and make the carrying of small shopping packages a nothing task My generations seem to be adapting to changes and ergonomic improvements with ease, I’m proud to say.
The driver had volunteered to point out where to get the 10th Ave bus to Javits, but my #14 veered south on Hudson Street, which enters from the south and ends at 9th Ave, and I had to ask again, at the trianular stop. He apologized and pointed out the #11 bus, moving north on 9th Ave, then west on 14th Street, that would take me west to and along 10th Ave. I caught the next one, it was a compact new short bus, and the young woman driver had no idea of the Javits Center (11th Ave, covering several mid- 30s blocks), and guessed at 34th Street. It was her first day on the route, as substitute. “Sweetie, they just gave you a bus route and told you to look for stops?” I teased, and she affirmed. Jointly we scanned the route for the stop, found it, and wished each other not to get lost.
Getting out to the far western parts of our neighborhood is like visiting a distant planet. If our center is ST/PCV, and the four parks form the main planets, this is Pluto. Here is a different world – the huge Western Beef market on 14th Street, and the meat packing district (I don’t know whether the outside assembly lines of moving hooks for beef carcasses still exist, they used to be quite a sight), and the steak houses, then 10th Ave with its 24 –hour taxicab repair shops, good places to know. A lot of the tall buildings, many quite modern, are warehouses – I was focusing on the prop rental agency and stage scenery storage firms, the instruments of wealth creation in our post-industrial service economy. And they are busy – forklift trucks chugging along the streets, into long warehouse aisles.
Arriving at the yawningly empty rain-washed glass giant Convention Center after an hour and a half, mostly bus time way above the estimate), I found my objective, the ILAB Antiquarian Book Fair, tucked in a tiny fraction of the vast space, and had some pleasant chats with visitors from far away, the venerable Maggs Bros and Bernard Quaritch emporiums in London, some Dutch and French firms, Ken Lopez and Peter Howard from the West Coast as well as Boston and New York folk. Standing in front of cheerful-looking long bookcases filled with international treasures of five centuries priced in the thousands, they were quite nonchalant about the lack of visitors; Saturday and Sunday were still ahead. Despite the execrable balance of trade, dollar is still the currency and New York is Action Central. But time was short, and I had to move on. More about books anon.
# posted by Wally Dobelis @ 2:19 PM 
