...At the old Yankee Stadium, the press box rose high up above home plate and over to the left side and consisted of a few rows of countertops, outlets and chairs, with broadcast booths, and a smaller press box where I sat with the men of the Black and Hispanic press and TV and radio reporters. The Yankees official box sat off to the left, and Eddie Layton’s Hammond organ called outCharge!from the far right. This was the generation of technology that followed the electric typewriter and before cell phones, email, texting and the Internet. The state-of-the-art computer at the time was a heavy black Radio Shack laptop with a tiny screen of four or five lines. One older sportswriter still used a typewriter, and the clickety-clack of the keys made me think of the movie,The Front Page.
Most of the older men—and almost everyone was older then me—wore plaid short-sleeved shirts under tweed sport jackets, even during the warmer weather. They reminded me of Oscar Madison. At least these men had…
In my neighborhood in Inwood, soy used to have only one meaning: I am.
On the west side of Broadway and in some corners of the east, with migration and eating habits changing, soy has a more ominous meaning: One can purchase almost a full spectrum of soy food products, including pet food, in the C-Town and Fine Fare supermarkets on Broadway.
Soy is a symbol in the gentrification debate. And when it replaces the fried pastelitos stuffed with beef, crispy to stones, and tacos smothered in pico de gallo sold on the street or in Dominican restaurants, then the transition will sadly be complete.
Gentrification is a dirty word around town, particularly here in New York. The real culprit? Dutch trader Peter Minuit.
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Originally published in The Matador Review, Fall 2017
Things, you know, just things, from arguments to pots of noodles sometimes come to a rolling boil among my Manhattan neighbors in my own almost century-old apartment building sitting solidly north of the George Washington Bridge and just before the hills of Riverdale in the Bronx, with its mixture of random and eccentric folks living next door, above and below, and across from one another. We're a resilient collection of. . .click here to read more.