East side, west side,
All around the town,
The tots sang “Ring-a-Rosie,”
“London Bridge is Falling Down.”
Boys and girls together,
Me and Mamie O’Rourke,
Tripped the light fantastic
On the sidewalks of New York.
Getting There Is Half The Fun
Or so they say. Cunard Lines’ promise from the fifties has worn a little thin over time as shipping piers, railroad stations and airline terminals have evolved into something akin to scenes from Dante’s Inferno, human ant mounds with travelers skittering in all directions at once, bumping into and running over one another with giant rolling torpedoes once known as “suitcases,” shedding shoes and hats and jackets as they race through X-ray vision machines that would put Superman’s to shame, squeezing into tiny quarters fit for Doc and Sneezy and Grumpy if they lost a little weight. It’s a mess.
Me and Mamie O’Rourke got a little lucky this time, though, by virtue of Divine Intervention. If you think it’s fun to win a prize on Name That Tune or, perhaps, be awarded a knighthood from the Queen of England, those prizes pale in significance to the grandest trophy of all—the highly esteemed and seldom-obtained benefit called Pre-Screening, which allows a person to remain relatively intact and shod through the pre-flight investigatory process. Oh, and did I mention?—the lines are preposterously short. I’m not sure who determines these things—I envision a big gold table in the sky surrounded by bearded gentry in off-white robes, stroking their chin hairs in serious consideration and marking their choices on long paper scrolls with large feather pens. It seems older people get more consideration, and why shouldn’t they after decades of battling through transportation depot hordes and surviving. Who better to finally nab the Golden Ring?
There are, of course, many choices to make when traveling. If I’m flying, which airline do I go with? What will my budget allow? The redeye is cheapest but do I want to look like Dracula when I arrive? In the past few years, I have been partial to Southwest. They fly almost everywhere in the U.S., are dependable, and don’t rob you if you’re forced to cancel your flight. Southwest started out as a discount airline, however, and now they are anything but. And it is virtually impossible to fly anywhere on Southwest without stopping somewhere else, at least at a reasonable price. They wanted me to enjoy a little respite in St. Louis on my way from Orlando to New York. “Does the insane nature of this plan ever occur to you folks?” I asked the cheery SW agent. “I mean, flying a THOUSAND miles west on what should be a direct North-South flight?” I half expected her to tell me I could always take in a Cardinals game but she merely went on to the next possibility. I opted out of Southwest and moved on to the Visa/Capital One travel bureau, an impartial arbiter which sizes up all the possibilities. JetBlue, of all people, led the parade with a $390 package from Orlando to NYC, then Boston to Orlando. American had $98 flights from New York to Boston. So, for two people, the whole enchilada would cost under a thousand. Sign me up. We’re off to the Bronxville Zoo.
Passenger Of The Day
JetBlue was incorporated in Delaware in August, 1998. Several of its executives were former Southwest employees and the new airline started by following Southwest’s tactic of offering low-cost travel, but sought to distinguish itself by its amenities, such as in-flight entertainment, television at every seat and Sirius XM satellite radio. In the words of its founder, David Neeleman, JetBlue wanted “to bring humanity back to air travel.”
In September, 1999, the airline hit the jackpot, receiving 75 initial take-off/landing slots at John F. Kennedy International Airport. Ever since, New York City has been their primary consideration. JetBlue was one of only a few U.S. airlines that made a profit during the sharp downturn in airline travel following the September 11, 2001 attacks. The airline sector responded to JetBlue’s market presence by starting rival mini-carriers Song (Delta) and Ted (United), both of which soon fell by the wayside. JetBlue, itself, struggled through the next decade but continued to expand. Thirty-six new aircraft were scheduled for delivery in 2006 despite a terrible financial year in 2005. On March 19, 2008, JetBlue added Orlando as a gateway focus city, enhancing its opportunities in the Caribbean. On June 13, 2012, the airline ranked “Highest in Customer Satisfaction Among Low Cost Airlines in North America” according to J.D. Power and Associates, a customer satisfaction recognition received for the eighth year in a row.
We agree with those customers. The flights were all pleasant and on time. Bill even got free likker. When Doris the Flight Attendant broadcast a request for passengers to align their bags wheels-out in the overhead compartment, he was the only one to respond. Doris marched right up with a free Bloody Mary. Bill said shucks, he was just doing his job as a proper citizen and told Doris he appreciated the pre-screening, the airline’s boarding process (from the rear) and the on-time departure. In the meantime, he attempted to turn on his overhead light, which didn’t work. Doris was mortified by its failure and appreciated Bill’s cheerful attitude. She brought him another Bloody Mary. Bill looked at Siobhan. “I’m going to have to turn into a shitheel,” he whispered, “or they’ll have to carry me off the plane.”
Who Needs A Taxi? We’ve Got George.
Standing by the baggage carousel—and why is our bag always among the last to arrive?—anticipating a grumpy half-hour with the cab dispatchers and taxi drivers outside, we noticed, off to the side, a pleasant little man perfectly turned out in a fashionable suit and tie. He was smiling. “Need a ride?” he asked as I walked up. “I have a Town Car.” This was George, a proud native of Puerto Rico living in New York for forty years. “I just might,” I told him, steering him over to the carousel which featured a large warning sign discouraging passengers from using “unauthorized transportation personnel” who might drive them up a dark alley, beat them to a pulp and steal all their earthlies. I pointed out the sign to George, who smiled. “There are some bad people in the world,” he said, nodding. We negotiated a price of $50, tip included, and walked off to George’s Town Car, which he neglected to mention was 15 years old. Siobhan kept looking back at the warning sign. On the way in, she wanted reassurance. “Are we going the right way?” she asked, more than once. “I think I can take him,” I told her, “unless he has a Glock.”
The Jolly Crew At The Sanctuary Hotel
Sanctuary
The Sanctuary Hotel is on West 47th Street, a half-block from Times Square and the Subway. It’s five minutes from the Marriott Marquis, where we were dining the first night in town and less than ten from the Eugene O’Neill Theater on 49th, where we would see The Book of Mormon next day. It has a very nice lounge/grille on the roof, extremely gregarious personnel and is clean as a whistle, all reasons why I chose the place after a lot of internet research. A few Tripadvisor reviewers did mention the rooms were “smallish.”
SMALLISH? Smallish is a two-door car. Smallish is a 5-7 guy with a 5-8 girlfriend. Smallish is a one-bedroom apartment, a bench seat at the stadium, Rick Perry’s IQ score. That’s smallish! THIS room was….how best to put it?….MICROSCOPIC. The bed, low to the floor, took up 80% of the space. The bathroom was almost invisible and its tiny doorway would prohibit a fat man from entry. The glassed-in shower, therefore, was located in the main room, promising an abundance of steaminess. The clothes closet held six garments. Tyrion Lannister would have been claustrophobic.
On top of all that, the shower was as slippery as Dick Cheney. We asked for a mat, but there were none. The comforter on the bed retained too much heat. We asked for a fan, but there were none. A strange noise rose up in the walls at night, remindful of “air in the pipes” of old houses. We asked for a detective, but there were none. As William Bendix used to say, “What a revoltin’ development THIS is!” Where’s the Waldorf Astoria when you need them?
But we are nothing if not hardy troopers. Something as picayune as a midget hotel was not putting us off our feed. We went out and marched around Times Square, taking in the sights and snapping pix for The Flying Pie. At six, we elevatored up to the 48th floor of the Marriott Marquis to The View restaurant for dinner. The View features floor-to-ceiling windows and rotates 360 degrees in one hour, giving diners a look at the entirety of the surrounding environs. We ate. We drank. We sang old college songs. Well, we would have if they’d let us. The fare was better than average, if not spectacular. The view was, of course, terrific. We could see clearly now, the rain was gone. There were no obstacles in our way. Even The Sanctuary Hotel.
Sanctuary Bathroom Entrance, Left (Or Above), Closet Space, Right (Or Below)
Next Week:
Siobhan goes shopping on Fifth Avenue and finds out what a $14,000 wedding dress looks like. Hey, it never hurts to look, right? Then it’s off to explore The Village, west to east. Finally, Broadway beckons and we spend a night at the theater. The following day, it’s a trip to the brand spanking new Freedom Tower, a sight to behold, miragelike in the New York sky. You’ll want to be there for all the fun, frolic and good times. You will, right?
Street Scenes From The Sidewalks Of New York And The View Restaurant
That’s all, folks….
P.S.
Those of you paying attention already know that American Pharoah won his first race back after the Triple Crown, dusting off an average field in Monmouth’s Haskell Stakes on Sunday. Owner Ahmed Zayat says his next start will be at Saratoga on August 29, where he will meet tougher competition in the Travers Stakes. The Haskell drew over 60,000 people, a new Monmouth Park record, and by a bunch. The old one was 53,000+. The television audience for the race was the largest for a summer horse race in 13 years.
