Sunday, February 28, 2010

An X-Rated American Dream


By: Rachel Morgan
2/28/2010

Editor's note: This post is R-rated.

It looks just like any other DVD store. A cheerful blue awning with unassuming white letters that read ‘14th St. DVD Center,’ juts out onto the street. Walk through the smudged double glass doors, however, past the three shelves of over-priced regular DVDS and you will enter the store’s immense x-rated section.

The section is three times larger than its PG-counterpart. A gold curtain separates the two, but it’s almost always pulled back to reveal six rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves. The shelves are organized into different genres - guy-on-guy action, women with unnaturally large breasts, the archetypal schoolgirl fantasy.

One has to wonder who would work in a place like this, with nude, suggestive posters plastering the walls and x-rated DVDs and sex toys lining the shelves. Perhaps the clerk at the counter isn’t a sex fiend with a toe fetish, rather a recent immigrant who came to the United States to in search of opportunity and the quintessential American dream but instead found himself behind the counter of a sex shop.

Behind this glass countertop sits 21-year old Dawson Pavithran of Queens, manager of the store.

He’s short in stature, only about 5’5’, and has two rows of perfectly straight, startlingly white teeth. He wears a gold chain with a tiny silver hoop attached. He said his mother warns him to stay away from the homosexual customers that come into his store.

“My mother gave me this necklace with a cross on it, but I lost the cross to I replaced it with my earring,” he said. The earring has a tiny marijuana leaf on it. He wears a navy blue hoodie with no shirt underneath, unzipped to reveal a patch of jet-black chest hair.

The counter is raised about two feet so he can see the whole store, watching for shoplifters - perhaps a prepubescent boy too embarrassed to buy the pornographic video about naughty Catholic schoolgirls.

The soft-spoken Sri Lankan native has worked at 14Th St. DVD Center for nearly two years. He came to the United States for the same reasons as many – in search of a better life, higher-paying job, to attend college. His mother and father are still living in Sri Lanka.

“I wanted a better life,” he said simply. Despite his aspirations of pursuing a better life, it’s obvious that Pavithran’s dreams didn’t quite pan out.

But Pavithran is not alone. According to the Fiscal Policy Institute of New York, immigrants of working age tend to work a wider variety of jobs – in other words, will work jobs that their American-born peers may not want. The study showed that 35 percent of the workforce of New York City is made up of immigrants, although they make up only 28 percent of the population.

Pavithran got the job at the DVD store because it is owned by one of his father’s friends. He said both his mother, a housewife, and father, who owns a jewelry store, know he works there.

“[My father’s] been there,” he said. “He’s cool with it.” He says his mother, a native of India and a Hindu, is okay with his job, but is always sure to separate her son from the work he does.

“She says, it’s just a job, what I’m doing is just a job,” he said. “It’s not who I am.” Pavithran himself is Roman Catholic, like his father, but he said he doesn’t attend church regularly.

Pavithran didn’t come to the United States to sell pornography and strap-ons to the residents of the East Village. It was simply a product of circumstance. He attended FIT for three months for fashion design before he ran out of money and was forced to withdraw, he said. Now, he’s working to save up money to go back to school, so he can achieve his dream of designing his own line of clothing.

“I got about halfway through and now I really wanna go back,” he said. But he has no set date or plan as to when he will.
Pavithran has an unexpected passion when it comes to design.

“My thing is wedding gowns, that’s my [dream,]” he said, leaning his arm against a partition adorned with a giant poster that reads “Oil Dat Big Ass Up” and featured various well-endowed, well-oiled women in thongs.
While he explained his dreams to finish his schooling at FIT and someday see his designs grace the pages of Vogue and InStyle, a 50-something year old, hefty businessman in a khaki trench coat purchased a stack of six videos from the girl-on-girl section.

The store is lit by floresant lighting, giving its patrons neither privacy nor anonymity to purchase its wares.

Pavithran completes the whole transaction without meeting the man’s gaze, it’s hard to tell if this is an unofficial requirement of the job or just his personal preference.

“People who come here are really freaks,” he said. “There are all different kind of people, different mentalities.”
Just last week, he went rogue and got into a fistfight with a male patron who was hitting on him and wouldn’t take no for an answer, he said.

“He come on to me,” he said. “[Some of the homosexual] people come in here, go to the gay section. But instead of looking at the movies, they look at us. They don’t care if we are gay or straight. It just makes them feel happy when they look at us.”
Pavithran has a girlfriend, a part-time babysitter who doesn’t like the fact that he works in the XXX section of a video store.
He said he’s not really into the sexually adventurous things that are sold in his store.

"This is just my job,” he said. But, he does say that if he and his girlfriend want to purchase sex toys or porn videos, they go to another store, so that his co-workers won’t give him a hard time.

Pavithran cites the store’s top sellers as the Rabbit , although he was unaware of the Rabbit’s infamous appearance on the popular HBO show Sex and the City, and the Bullet, both vibrators.

When asked by acquaintances where he works, he usually just tells people it’s a video store, he said.
“I’m really looking for some other jobs too,” he said. “If I find a better job I’ll leave this.”

But for now, it’s easy for him to pretend that he has a regular 9-5 gig, as he works Monday through Saturday from 9 a.m. – 6 p.m. It’s clear that he’s not exactly proud of where he works.

“This is my life,” he said, gesturing toward a wall covered in freakishly large rubber penises, oversize strap-on breasts and synthetic vinyl vaginas. “Every morning when I come in, I see boobs. Fake boobs.”

Monday, February 15, 2010

Whitney Port of "The City" talks fashion, dating and the death of designer Alexander McQueen


Q: So tell me a little bit about what you’re wearing right now.
WP: Ok, I’m wearing a Charlotte Ronson t-shirt, Adam pants, Gssapi Sanovi shoes and a mixture of different jewelry – Bing Bang, Ventin Palin, CiCi Stuff.

Q: If you could compete in any Olympic winter sport, what would it be?
WP: I just got asked this question actually. I would probably say figure skating. I grew up watching it with my grandparents. It’s like dancing on ice and I love to dance.

Q: So what are your thoughts on Alexander McQueen’s recent death?
WP: I think it’s so tragic, it’s so sad. Like obviously, you can’t really make sense of it and it’s a huge loss for the fashion world.

Q: So fashion-wise, what’s your spring/summer must have?
WP: I think a lot of watercolor prints are really fun. I mean it’s hard to pull it off right now, like I almost came in something like that, like this yellow number but I was like, I don’t know. It’s hard. Dressing right now is really hard with this snow. I walk out of my apartment and I [step] in full snow up to my knees. I’m still learning how to dress for the whole weather situation out here.

Q: What’s the worst way you’ve ever been dumped?
WP: To be perfectly honest, I’ve only had a couple boyfriends and I haven’t been dumped.
Q: So you’re always the dumper?
WP: In my relationships I have been the dumper. I mean there’s been times when I’ll like a guy and maybe he doesn’t necessarily like call or.. but that’s at the very beginning stages, you know, but I’ll cut that off at the pass. But yeah, in my relationships that hasn’t happened yet.

Q: Speaking of relationships are you dating anyone right now?
WP: Nothing serious at the moment.
Q: Nothing serious, just casually dating?
WP: Yeah.

Q: So what is your favorite workout tip? What do you do to stay in shape?
WP: Really, because I’m all over the place and can’t always make it to the gym, I think the best bet in my bedroom, I’ll put on some music, I’ll do some pushups, some situps, just like dance around a little bit. But when I can go to the gym, I’ll go on the treadmill or I like to take classes, I’ll take cardio classes or dance classes.

Q: So what’s your best beauty bargain under $25?
WP: Most of my beauty bargains are, I mean most of my beauty buys are under $25. I think that you can probably get a mascara, like Maybelline, Cover Girl, those are the best mascaras, at a drugstore.

Q: What Disney princess would you be?
WP: That’s a good question. Cinderella.
Q: Why?
WP: I don’t know because her story is just so.. I don’t know. I just love Cinderella. It was always my favorite fairytale growing up.

Q & A with Alexandra Richards


US: What was on your playlist tonight?
AR: I had a lot of cut copy, because I know this is like an upbeat event and they do a lot of cut copy as part of the song… you know, I love those “Sex and the City” songs they use, like “show me love, you’ve got to show me love.

Q: Are you doing other shows this week?
AR: Yeah, I’m deejaying the Jimmy Choo event tomorrow and then on Sunday, I’m doing the MAC (inaudible.) This is my best friend, he books me, gets me money.

Q: If you could compete in the Winter Olympics, what would your sport be?
AR: Skiing.
Q: Are you a good skier?
AR: No, but I just picked it up after ten years of not doing it, so I’m like really stoked that I’m back up on the skis, losing control down the hill, but not falling.

Q: So is it hard to make a name for yourself apart from your father?
AR: Yeah, it is, it’s hard. But you know, family is family at the end of the day and I’m proud of where and who I come from. At least I can do something that I love. I don’t need to be in the name or light of everything but deejaying and modeling takes you there at some point.
Q: Does it open doors for you?
AR: Yeah, it opens windows and stuff but it only takes you so far and you don’t get to have your own name at the end of the day. But you know, whatever.

Q: What is your spring/summer must have?
AR: I’ve been working a lot with Jimmy Choo lately. I’m excited, I’ve been getting like free pair. I got these for their first event that I deejayed for. They’re the European version of the London boot, that’s what they call it.

Q: What’s the worst way you’ve ever been dumped by a guy?
AR: Talking over Skittles! I was like, ‘what kind of Skittle do you like?’ and he’s like, ‘Grape’ and I said apple or something like that and he was like yeah, ‘is this working?’ and I was like, ‘No.’ So over the phone, over Skittle conversation.

Q: So on that note are you dating anybody?
AR: Yeah, I am, actually. Yeah, I’m dating, nobody serious but…

Q: Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day?
AR: Plans for Valentine’s Day? No. I’m working on Valentine’s Day. I’ve gotta hustle.

Q: So what are your favorite beauty bargains under $25?
AR: I don’t know. Less is more to me. I don’t really use a lot of stuff.
Q: But you’re wearing lipstick – what are you wearing?
AR: Red lipstick – Nars. It’s red, Ruby Red.

Q: Do you have any tattoos?
AR: I have three, yes.
Q: What do they mean?
AR: Personal. In personal places, yeah.

Q: What’s your favorite kind of shoe?
AR: My favorite shoe is actually Chuck Taylors, the Converse. I wear those. I rock those a lot.

Q: What is your favorite nail and toe color for spring?
AR: Russian Navy. I think it’s Essie. My spa on Mott between Prince and Spring, they take care of me.
Q: Chinatown all the way, $22 manicures.
AR: I live in Chinatown too. I’m cheap like that.

Q: What kind of bag are you carrying right now?
AR: My DJ bag. And I have my purse in it, as well.
Q: What kind of purse is it?
AR: Actually, it’s vintage, I got it right on Ludlow and Rivington.

Q: What kind of sunglasses are you wearing?
AR: Oh, Ray-Bans. No actually, no. I don’t wear those. I have them but I don’t wear them. The ones I own are from St. Mark’s Place, this little Indian guy on the street, he’s amazing, he sells my favorite, like big, they look like Ray-Bans. I guess you could call them rip-offs.

US: What’s your favorite designer when you want to indulge?
Q: No, I don’t. No, I do. At this point, I love Alexander Wang, I think he’s great. Zac Posen’s beautiful, if I had events to go to, I’d wear his dresses all the time, Balenciaga’s great, Gucci.

Q: What kind of jeans do you wear?
AR: Jeans? SuBe, SuBe jeans.

Q: So what do you do before you go out?
AR: Listen to music really loud.
Q: What do you listen to?
AR: The Ronnets.
Q: And your favorite song to listen to before you go out or deejay.
AR: “Sweet Little Rock and Roller” by Chuck Berry.

Q: Anything else I should know about you?
AR: I’m a cool girl. Cheers.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Jo Becker of the New York Times offers her secrets to success

MANHATTAN - For Jo Becker of the New York Times, knowing the ins and outs of the public record law is key to successful investigative reporting.

“I would recommend that familiar[izing] yourself right away, read the law of whatever state you're in ... and understand what is public and fight for it all the time,” she said.

According to Becker, not knowing the public record law is the fastest way to get brushed off by officials.

“If you know the law, you’re in a lot better position to cite it,” she said. “If people think that you know the law, they’re not going to, as a default, deny you. They hope to make you go away that way. You want to show them that you know what you’re talking about, you know what’s public in that state.”

Also, don’t automatically assume sources aren’t going to want to talk, she said.

“I think a lot of reporters make the mistake in assuming that everybody is going to not want to talk to you or stonewall you,” she said of working on her Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative series on former Vice President Dick Cheney. “[Ask yourself,] what buttons do I need to push to get them to talk to me? I spend more time thinking about it than I do about the actual questions. You try to think about what would make someone talk to [you.]”

Becker, who is now an investigative reporter for the Times, previously worked for the Washington Post, the St. Petersburg Times, the Concord Monitor and the MacNeil-Lehrer NewsHour. She received her bachelor’s degree from the University of Colorado.

For Becker, getting sources to open up about Cheney and his unprecedented amount of power as vice president meant not taking sides.

“[It’s] not going in there with sort of guns a blazing, “ she said. “[I said,] I really want to understand, sit down and tell me.”
Becker also took advantage of a growing wedge between some of the administration and Cheney’s lawyer in to get people to talk, she said.

Even doing so, the series received positive feedback from both sides of the Bush/Cheney camp after the series was published.

“I got really universally complimented by people within the Bush administration, with a few exceptions,” she said. “But generally speaking, [I got] widespread compliments from a people who, A, thought the president was being underserved; and B, think Cheney is like a hero.”

Becker and her fellow reporter for the project, Barton Gellman of the Washington Post, received a Pulitzer Prize in 2008 for the Cheney series.

Another strategy Becker employs is staying organized. After conducting more than 200 interviews for the Cheney series, Becker had to come up with an organizational system or drown in a surplus of information.

She used a computer program Lotus to organize the interviews into three categories – interviews, background information and anecdotes. After organizing the facts, she could sort through it and determine what was most important to the story.
Becker’s last secret to success? It sounds simple, but according to her, it makes all the difference – tell the truth.

“I always tell people, ‘I’m going to do this story with or without you,’” she said. “My promise to people in that situation is you’re not going to be surprised. I don’t think people should be surprised at what [they] see in the newspaper – not [if they’re] a target of an investigation."

She makes it a point to inform subjects, especially those of investigative pieces, of her intentions and her desire to hear their side of the story, she said.

“You don’t even want to lie to people,” she said. “That’s the bottom line.”

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

A journalist's journey from traditional media to new media

By: Rachel Morgan
2/1/10

Robin Fields knows first-hand the changes traditional media is undergoing in favor of more interactive, tech-savvy alternatives – simply put, because she’s done it.

Fields, 42, is a senior editor for ProPublica, a non-profit, privately funded, independent new source that focuses primarily on investigative reporting and public interest stories.

Fields, who received her M.A. in journalism from Northwestern University, made the leap to the interactive fledgling news website from her steady nine-year gig as a reporter for the L.A. Times. The move wasn’t easy, she said – more like a leap of faith.

“I certainly get asked [why I left the L.A. Times to go to ProPublica] a lot when I made the decision, mostly by my friends,” the New York City native said. “I’d has a great run at the L.A. Times. I’d done just about everything I’d come there to do.”
When ProPublica called her in April 2008, asking her to get in on the ground floor of the interactive, relatively-new media outlet, she saw the perfect opportunity to do something more.

“What [ProPublica] had in mind seemed exciting,” Fields said. “It was a place where I could help shape what it was. With the bigger media outlets, they were what they were and they were going to be what they were with or without me.”

So Fields chose ProPublica, defying the trend and leaving the L.A. Times, a newspaper often referred to as “the velvet coffin,” since most of their journalists stay on staff, literally, until they die.

Fields, a slender blonde with a throaty voice and wry sense of humor, embodies the dilemma many journalists are facing today – work for the struggling, yet established newspaper or taking a chance on a new form of news media outlets such as ProPublica.

For Fields, taking a chance seems to have worked out. At the beginning of 2010, was promoted to senior editor. Now she oversees five reporters and ProPublica’s staff has grown to 32 employees.

“There are a lot of new things that [are being] tried,” she said. “Some will succeed, some will fail – but a lot of these things would never have happened if there wasn’t so much destruction.”

ProPublica strives to tell stories that are being phased out by a print industry that was being rocked by layoffs, loss of advertising revenues and cutbacks, she said.

“We want to have a ripple effect,” she said. “If you can put content out there that people can use, then you can have a much bigger effect.” On such interactive tool featured on the website is a state stimulus tracker, where readers can see exactly where and when their state’s stimulus money is being used.

ProPublica has the funds to publish its trademark longer, expensive-to produce investigative pieces partially because it’s privately-funded - a fact that draws some eyebrow raising.

But Fields maintains that ProPublica’s primary donor, the Sandler Foundation, has no say in the editorial content of the site.

“We basically ask them when the next check is coming in,” she said of the Sandler Foundation’s involvement in ProPublica. “They’re just as surprised as everyone else when we drop a story.”

Fields is used to the criticism of ProPublica’s controversial private funding and said other news sources as not immune to criticism, either.

“The only way you can prove your credibility is to do it everyday,” she said. “The L.A. Times was probably criticized 100 times a day for being a Democratic dinosaur, the Wall Street Journal for being a bunch of wide-eyed conservatives.”
New forms of media outlets like ProPublica are becoming more and more common as the journalism industry takes a nosedive.

These economic woes have also sparked collaboration between formerly rival news sources, Fields said.

“We used to be trying to beat each other on the same story,” Fields, a former investigative reporter said. “Now we’re often working in partnerships with other newspapers. Now, all of the papers share content with each other.”

It’s a far cry from Field’s early days as cub reporter in South Florida, which she refers to as “the most viciously competitive environments you could imagine.”

As far as Fields’ future, does she plan to stay in the world of interactive, online media or return to the world of print journalism once it recovers?

“I would never say I would never do that again,” she said. “I think that the big news outlets, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, are going to come out on the other side of this in some form that we haven’t gotten our heads around yet.”

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The hierarchy of subway musicians


By RACHEL MORGAN

For Sean Grissom, being a subway musician is a choice, not a means for survival.
Grissom has played cello at private parties, at nursing homes and hospitals, for Mayor Michael Bloomberg and was even an opening act for David Bowie.

But he prefers the audience at Pennsylvania Station.

“The thing about playing in the subway is you have to figure out how to connect with your audience,” said Grissom, 48, is a full-time musician who lives on the Upper West Side. “I love the fact that I get to create the stage – the potential is there, I just have to find it.”

Grissom plays the Cajun cello – his own twist on an old classic. The Cajun cello has a bit of Southern twang with a Cajun influence, a mixture of his Texas and Louisiana roots, he said. It sounds similar to fiddle tunes on the violin.

“I learned how to play fiddle tunes on a cello in Texas,” he said of his home state. An upside down navy blue Yankee cap lies on the station floor as he plays, an assortment of bills and coins inside.

Grissom declines to say just how much he makes in one day of playing in the subway.

“In many ways, the money is decent, but it’s not why you do it,” he said. “But the money, it makes a difference – I have a family to support.” The payoffs often come in other ways - making connections and playing private parties or events, selling CDs, simply getting his name out there, he said.

He supports his wife, Fran, a stay-at-home mom, and his daughter, Jane, an undergraduate student at New York University solely with his music – playing private gigs, parties and playing in the subway.

But subway musician isn’t his only identity – he teaches a rock string music course at Beacon Heights one day a week, instructs improvisation seminars to classical musicians and teaches seminars for teachers on how to make classical music more accessible to their students.

It may seem odd for a man who studied at Juilliard, the Pratt Institute and received his master’s from Hunter College to be playing music underground.

“People perceive street performers as a low-level profession,” he said. “People will say, ‘Why aren’t you in an orchestra?’ They equate success with being in an orchestra. And I say, ‘Do I look like an orchestra guy?’”

He admits he’s a bit of a free spirit. He wears his curly blonde hair in a long ponytail, wears round wire-rimmed glasses and a gold hoop in his left earlobe. He doesn’t have a cell phone or email account and is hesitant to use the Internet.

When Grissom plays, he dresses the part in a multicolored polka dot shirt, blue and white oxford-style shoes and a silver bow tie. A stack of cause rubber bands circles his left wrist. Even his homemade cello is dressed for the occasion - a miniature Santa hit sits jauntily at the top of its neck.

While some may not equate being a subway musician to success, to Grissom it is just that.

“Success is doing what I want to do when I want to do it,” he said. “Playing in the subway is great, because when you want to try out something new, you get immediate feedback from the audience. You can’t do that in an orchestra.”
But he still jokes about his literally bottom of the totem pole venue for performing.

“It’s like Reagan’s trickle down theory - I’m not even gutter trash,” he said, pointing upward toward street level. “I’m lower than gutter trash.”

But Grissom doesn’t just play in the subway, hoping for donations. He has nine CDs on sale for $15 each when he performs. He keeps a trove of business cards on hand when he’s playing on the mezzanine level of subway stations for freelance gigs and averages about 250 performances annually.

Grissom started performing in subway stations in 1983 and is one of the charter members of Music Under New York (MUNY,) an organized group of subway musicians that formed in 1985. Currently, MUNY has about 100 musicians that perform in 25 locations throughout the subway system.

“The goal of the program is to encourage the use of our transit system and improve the mass transit environment,” said Lydia Bradshaw, manager of the Arts for Transit Project and Music Under New York. “If you’re traveling through a station on your daily commute and come across a musical performer, it can be uplifting, can be a cultural experience. It can uplift your day, your mood, can be something new to you – a new kind of musical experience.”

But Grissom admits that capturing the attention of an audience of commuters isn’t always easy.

“Basically, you’re dealing with a non-captive audience,” he said. “They’re not here for me, they’re here to get from Point A to Point B. I have maybe 20-25 seconds to catch their attention.”
MUNY subway musicians like Grissom are identifiable by the Music Under New York banners that are displayed nearby when they are performing. To become a member of the group, musicians must tryout for a panel of judges of MTA officials, professional musicians and other MUNY members. The program also organizes annual scheduled music performances and has a registry of musicians on its website.

“When the public sees a performer and weren’t able to jot down their number, they can call us and we can hook them up in case they want to hire them,” Bradshaw said.

While being registered with MUNY has its benefits, not all subway musicians buy into the idea, like Gio Andollo, 25, who calls himself a devout Christian and is a music instructor at I.S. 230 in Queens.

“There’s something in my spirit that is really opposed to it,” said Andollo, who plays on the platform of the Delaney and Essex station on the Lower East Side. “I don’t feel like I should have to ask permission to express myself and enrich the lives of other people around me. It just seems like a way to marginalize people who maybe aren’t doing things the conventional way.”

A soft-spoken man with a slight build, Andollo plays an eclectic mix of folk music and punk on the platform. He plays the acoustic guitar, harmonica and does vocals for each song.

Andollo moved to New York City from Orlando, Fla., three months ago to join a flagship branch of the Orlando-based church Trinity Grace.

“People tend to have an understanding that religion [plays] a fundamental sort of role to you,” he said. “That’s not my lifestyle. In terms of rituals, I think of lot of those in Christianity are valuable, but a lot of them aren’t.”

Before he found himself playing music under the city streets, Andollo worked for AmeriCorps, a non-profit volunteer based agency, tutoring at a Florida high school. It was during this time that he decided he wanted to become a street performer.

He cites his musical influences as Bob Dylan, punk group Against Me and the Beatles. While the Beatles’ song, “All You Need is Love” is his motto for life, Andollo’s folksy style is more reminiscent of Dylan.

“[Performing] makes me want to create a spirit of peace in our city,” he said. “So I go out and sing about love and peace.”

As a new subway musician, the most he’s made is $7 over several hours. He’s having trouble making rent and paying bills at his apartment in Harlem.

“I am having a very difficult time surviving,” he said. “I can’t pay my rent with what I make here.” Andollo often finds himself competing with other musicians and street evangelists. He’s even had some negative reactions from passersby.

“I don’t know why,” he said. “I think the probably see it as an intrusion on what they’re doing, which I guess is just walking by.”
But in true street performer fashion, he keeps playing.

For Angel Cruz, 32, playing in the subway is simply a stop on the train to a better life.

Cruz, of Buskwick, Brooklyn, is the father of seven and has one on the way. He plays the harmonica on the trains across the city, performing lively Christmas carols and holding a white Styrofoam cup for donations.

“I like playing on the train, cheering people up and playing my harmonica,” he said.

He hopes to one day earn his GED and get an associate’s degree from ASA College in Brooklyn.

“I was thinking of channeling my [energy,] getting my degree, focusing on something else,” he said.

Ten years ago, Cruz saw a harmonica for sale for $7 in a convenience store and bought it on a whim.

“It’s a portable instrument,” he said. “When I came across it, it was sparkling like a diamond in the sky, so I picked it up.” Cruz then taught himself to play with no lessons or previous musical experience.

“I’ve been told that I’m talented and play really well,” he said. His profits agree – he said he’s made up to $350 in a few hours.

Performing and soliciting music on the train is actually illegal, according to MUNY standards. But that doesn’t stop Cruz, who isn’t a member of the organization.

“I’ve never gotten ticketed or anything,” he said of his interaction with the New York Police Department. “I have been stopped, [the police] weren’t rude or abusive or anything. They just said it’s not legal to [play on the train] and I could get a ticket. They checked my ID to see if I had any warrants, patted me down.”

The NYPD DCPI declined to comment on their policy when dealing with subway musicians.

Despite police intervention, Cruz keeps playing on the trains, weaving in and out of passengers, his fingers moving like lighting across the harmonica, his cheeks puffing in and out rhythmically.

Cruz has always been an entrepreneur – not only does he support his entire family through subway performing, he also bought a shaved ice truck and sells shaved ice to kids in Brooklyn.

“I’ve always been trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents,” he said, then put the harmonica back up to his mouth and resumed playing.


CUTLINE: Gio Andollo plays the harmonica and guitar at the Delaney and Essex station on the Lower East Side.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Book review of Buzz Bissinger's "A Prayer for the City"

Buzz Bissinger chronicles the sometimes sputtering, sometimes spectacular, eight-years of Ed Rendell’s mayoral career in his non-fiction work, “A Prayer for the City.” Bissinger, who also penned the widely acclaimed “Friday Night Lights,” chronicles Rendell’s fight to save a city from budget cuts, housing horrors, union strikes and essentially, itself.

Throughout the book, Bissinger has an inside vantage point of Rendell’s first term as mayor of what others saw as a doomed city. Readers grow to know and love the affable Ed Rendell, with his oversize frame and rumpled clothing, and his stoic chief of staff David Cohen. Together this yin and yang pair fights to right the city’s many wrongs, balance a seemingly doomed budget and clean up the messes of past mayors.

Naively optimistic, painfully ordinary, overweight, Rendell emerged as an unlikely hero for the city of Philadelphia. Bissinger saw the potential to tell a unique story from the inside, to tell the real story of America’s cities through the lens of Philadelphia’s struggles and the personal struggles of the newly elected Rendell.
Bissinger’s was moved to write “A Prayer for the City” after he observed just how bad things had gotten within Philadelphia while working as a newspaper reporter.

I remember the neither the precise route I took nor the particulars I was supposed to be covering, but I do remember what I saw that day in the city of Philadelphia: an assemblage of vacant houses and boarded up windows and collapsed porches that seemed to stretch forever, one block bleeding into another without relief. (Bissinger, xi.)

It was here Bissinger saw a perhaps a block or two of run down homes and empty storefronts. But what he didn’t realize was that these desolate blocks were a metaphor for the city of Philadelphia as a whole – a city on the brink of death, bleeding profusely through gaping wounds of crime, poverty and unemployment. Through the book, Bissinger raises the questions - is the slow, painful death of cities inevitable in today’s world? Are cities doomed to be the dead, ghetto-ridden epicenters of all modern cities? Then Bissinger heard on an old radio that Ed Rendell was elected to mayor.

And he heard a prayer for a dying city.

During the 21 years that preceded Rendell’s first term, the city lost more than 250,000 jobs and 30 percent of its tax base. Crime rates skyrocketed, public housing was a disaster and unions bled the city dry financially with their demands. Enter Ed Rendell.

Enter Ed Rendell.

Bissinger gained permission from Cohen to accompany Rendell throughout his first four years in office as mayor – and from
there, the story of his term begins.
Bissinger didn’t know how the story would turn out. He didn’t know if Rendell would have a successful term, if he would save the dying city, if he would fail miserably or emerge victorious, but he knew it was a story worth telling.
The theme of Bissinger’s work resonates as just what the title implies – a desperate, last-ditch hope of a city in need of help.

A theme of prayer, if not answered by action, is answered only with hope. Hope interweaves itself through nearly every character in the book. It is found in the lovable, blundering, temper-tantrum-prone Rendell, the struggling great-grandmother of four Fifi Mazzccua, the unemployed Navy shipyard worker Jim Mangan, even city employee Linda Morrison, who struggles to maintain her love affair with a city that has betrayed her.
While all Bissinger’s characters are vivid in their own right, it is “crazy lady” Fifi Mazzccua who steals the show. Readers cannot help but feel a sense of half sorrow, half amusement for the way this determined, stout woman deals with the dark realities of a declining city and how she hopes to save a new generation of children from the streets.

Sixty-one years old, short, and sweetly plump, unabashed about wearing a shirt that said in bold letters on the front, WANTED: SUGAR DADDY WITH CONDO ON THE BEACH AND EXOTIC SPORTS CARS, Fifi had a face with the varied expressions of a summer storm (Bissinger, 225.)

Mazzccua comes alive off the page. One can see her lumbering walk, the sadness in her eyes when she thinks of her son, Tony, in jail for the rest of his life. But her vivacity is apparent too. Mazzccua maintains the hope that things will get better - even with a son in jail for life, a dead grandson and a pastor who simply left her behind.

She was living now in a different part of the city, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, for the days of Olive Street were gone forever. The city had changed so much since the – in the way blacks and whites got along; in the way the young were yielded up in casual sacrifice; in the way crime and drugs owned the streets, providing temptations for those who wanted to take part and showing no remorse for those who wanted to stay away. Fifi has been affected by all of it, and sometimes she hardly had the strength to get out of bed in the morning. But she did… (226).

Fifi Mazzccua embodies all that “A Prayer for the City” is – being beaten down, pushed aside, taking hit after hit, much like the city itself. But she somehow finds a way to keep going. Mazzccua sent up prayers to be answered, what she got in return was hope – perhaps all a dying city had to offer.

While Bissinger is a gifted writer, at times the book struggles to maintain momentum. While the legislative process and the interaction between the city and state governments, unions and other elected officials are key to the development of the story, the real-life characters living in Philadelphia tell it better. Fifi Mazzccua, one of the more riveting characters in the book, only claims a single chapter and a smattering of anecdotes. The same goes for Jim Mangan, who, along with thousands of others, will lose his job if the historic Navy shipyard closes. He embodies one of Rendell’s main battles throughout his first term as mayor, but Bissinger doesn’t explore his character in depth.

Linda Morrison, the city worker who has been mugged twice and lived in an upper-middle class neighborhood just steps from the projects, is another riveting character who does not get much face time. Perhaps one of the most memorable scenes in the book comes the night she and her husband’s neighbor in Queen Village was stabbed on her own front porch.

In 1990, Linda Morrison and her husband of two years, Jim Morrison, learned something wholly new about city life: when someone is stabbed near an artery, the blood doesn’t flow evenly but spurts in syncopation to the beats of the heart (Bissinger, 164.)

For Morrison, this incident was equivalent to walking in on a lover cheating; she felt betrayed by a city she had stood by and been loyal to, a fact that lead to her eventual escape to the suburbs.

The immersion journalistic style in which Bissinger writes is similar to that of Adrian Nicole LeBlanc’s process in writing “Random Family” or Hunter S. Thompson’s in “Hell’s Angels.” But Bissinger reports at arm’s length. While he portrays Rendell thoroughly enough at his office in city hall, the reader is left wondering how Rendell acted when he went home to his wife and son – did he put up his feet on a worn recliner, crack open a Coors Light and watch football? Or did he get down on the floor and play Monopoly with his son, moving a silver top hat around the board, assembling a village of small, colorful houses and quietly plotting his victory?

Instead of diving headfirst into the lives of the five characters that live in Philadelphia, Bissinger only tests the waters. He never learns the real stories of their lives – who they love, what they feel about the disastrous state of the city, and most importantly, why they don’t just move away, leaving the dying, writhing city in the dust. Bissinger fails to explain the enduring love his characters have for Philadelphia. Without it, it becomes unclear as to why they even stay.
After an emotional four-year journey that was Rendell’s first term as mayor, the conclusion of Bissinger’s “A Prayer for the City” can only be described as anticlimactic.

For fifty pages, the reader was kept wondering if the deal with Meyer Werft will go through, thus saving the epic Navy shipyard, thousands of jobs and maybe even the city itself. The anticipation of whether Rendell will win one final victory for the city he loves is palpable. But the resolution of this epic battle is anticlimactic and unsatisfying and only mentioned in passing at the conclusion of Cohen’s time with the mayor.

The book ends focusing on power players Rendell and Cohen and their plans for the next four years. Rendell, elected for a second term in 1994, was in the midst of developing the New Urban Agenda. His honest, heartbreaking words while writing this plan sum up “A Prayer for the City” perfectly.

“The New Urban Agenda is no panacea, nor is it guaranteed to make cities succeed,” Rendell had written. “What is certain, however, is that without it or some other significant help, cities will surely fail.” They were honest words, spoken from the vantage point of someone who had seen the sorrow over and over – the homeless man wrapped in rags on the rim of the perfectly sculpted fountain; the son in the relentless light of the hospital waiting room who wanted to know why, why, his father had been killed in the line of duty, the little girl who had taken his hand on the shabby block of Stella and asked for a swimming pool (Bissinger, 376.)

The angst Rendell feels when trying to save a dying city is palpable, and heartbreakingly real. While it is never stated as to whether Rendell “saved” the city of Philadelphia, after all is said and done, it becomes clear - Rendell may have been that prayer, that last hope for Philadelphia.