March 01, 1984 - A Different ViewpointMarch 1, 1984 The Suffolk Times Page 13
A Different Viewpoint
By PAUL STOUTENBURGH
This is something different for `Focus'
-- I am writing in the lobby of the New
York Hilton Hotel. Barbara and I have
been in here for the past three days and
once again it gave me a chance to reflect
on an entirely different and not too
natural world. The hotel is typical of the
many glass towers that overlook this
prestigious city.
How man has changed his world here.
If you look closely, you can see the
progression from the old lower ornate
buildings of yesterday to the new tall
modern skyscrapers of today. And so the
old are slowly being devoured by
these new giants that rule this part of the
world.
It boggles the mind to think of the
materials and the labor force that have
gone into the building of this mass of
asphalt, concrete, steel and glass we call
Manhattan. From the beginning when
the great migrations of immigrants
came to this country as a labor force, to
today's melting pot of nationalities, we
see an endless process of continual
building.
The old gives way to the new. There is
absolutely nothing left of the original
landscape except for an overtrodden
Central Park. Just an hour ago Barbara
and I took a deli lunch to that famous
park. It was our excursion into the
country. All around the eyes of the great
buildings that border this park looked
down on us. The plush and swank, the
elegant and the rich use this as their
focal point, for it is the best glimpse of
country New York has to offer.
How ironic that man in his great city
still craves for open space and a view of
the natural world. We did see some
squirrels. One was busy lapping sap that
ran from a broken limb of a maple tree,
which told us they must be busy in maple
syrup country upstate. We also saw
pampered pigeons waiting for a handout,
and, of course, the ever - present starlings
that seem to scavenge out a living no
matter where they are.
Breath of Fresh Air
All about us, as we sat eating, were
children under the watchful eyes of their
governess along with an occasional
concerned mother. I assume they were
getting their daily breath of fresh air and
WaGN�G'
exercise. I'm not sure the air was that
fresh, for as you looked down the
corridors of buildings there always
seemed to be a haze in the air. This is the
very haze, by the way, that we see in our
brilliant orange sunsets to the west. It is
reflection on these particles in the air
that creates spectacular sunsets.
Endless Line of Movement
As we sat the screams from an
ambulance or police car drowned out the
ever - pleasant drone that one becomes
accustomed to in the city. Scream as
they would, they were slowed by the
maze of cars that seemed indifferent to
their plight. Everywhere the endless line
of cars moved back and forth. Even at
night between the mountain of lights
from the buildings, the red taillights or
the white headlights seemed to follow
each other in an endless line of
movement.
But now it's time to leave. Outside
huge shiny buses line the entire block.
People from all over the state pulling or
dragging their luggage, move to the
appropriate bus to head home. Inside we
sit and wait while other huge buses pass
only inches away from one another. What
looks like utter disorder eventually
works itself out and we're off.
More screaming police cars go by and
further down the bustling road three
mounted policemen ride on their elegant
steeds. How out of place these animals
seem with this man -made world all
about. One horse leaves some droppings
along the way and they are immediately
pulverized by the passing cars. Soon they
will become part of the dust of New York
City.
I'm glad we're heading home. We stop
and go. Wait and move. The big bus rocks
back and forth, lurches ahead making its
way through the broken roads of the city.
Is there no place that it smoothes off?
Our tarred back roads of home are better
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Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
STARLING ON SUET- -This hardy scavenger is not a native bird but
rather one that has emigrated from Europe. He is now found throughout
North America and is at home both at the backyard feeder and foraging
the streets of New York City.
than these by far. More stop and go. I
lean back and close my eyes as we lose
the taller buildings behind us only to
move past older and more decrepit
buildings along the way.
We go over a bridge and I look below to
the pea green waters and think of last
weekend when Barbara and I walked the
crystal clear waters along our bayfront
to collect a mess of oysters served later
to dinner guests on the half shell. A few
side streets, a few more stops and we
were on the LIE.
Cars and trucks all rushing to get
somewhere and doing it the quickest way
they know how. I wondered -- where were
they all going? What do they think is
important in life? Have they ever walked
the woods? Swam in clear sparkling
waters? Picked a wildflower? Gone
clamming or eaten really fresh fish? Or
had their own garden? Perhaps some
had. Perhaps some only dream of such
things. Surely I knew where I was going
and I was glad of it, for we were headed
east.
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