The Street of Silver Lining

I hear that in New York, where many people don’t drive, your coat is like your car. I figure I must have a good one, so mine is Italian.

I have the coat for a couple of seasons, and I receive enough compliments to keep wearing it when it’s cold out.

But, wear and tear is inevitable, especially with me driving. Last year I have the lining repaired. I try to do this again this year, but I cannot find the proper material to match and the tear in the lining is too severe.

I decide to change the lining.

I once read that the comedian Robin Williams checks his coat at the sort of New York establishment that has a coat check. To the coat check girl, the jacket appears ordinary; however the lining is bright orange.

She notes that this hidden flamboyance is very suitable to his character. I say he looks off his trolley just by looking at him.

I do not presume to have hidden flamboyance, nor am I a comedian. I want a color that looks both plush and presentable. I go for blue.

It is my favorite color since I am a kid, mostly on account the Mets. Blue balances the coat’s grey herringbone pattern, and a feng shui master might say it is good for wealth cultivation.

I am told by the tailor I should fetch the fabric myself. This being New York, there is a street for this sort of mission: West 39th Street.

It is just blocks from the Ruby Tuesday’s in Times Square, but you are more likely to walk into a stray hubcap than a tourist on this block.

The needle points me in the right direction.

I walk into about 10 stores before I am exhausted and settle on a shade at Super Star Fabrics.

Each store I visit without exception is owned by Bangladeshis with African stock boys. They all seem quite happy to help me with my possible $12 purchase.

I think they day dream through the work-day on a constant sugar high of eye candy. Many of their customers are young women who work in the fashion industry or who attend school to make it there.

Raz at Super Star confirms he likes his job serving streams of attractive women.

They should do a commercial for color printers in his store.

I select a roll of fabric, Raz pulls out his scissors and shears off four yards, what the tailor tells me is needed for the lining.

Fashion and football do have one thing in common: yards.

I bring my jacket to the tailor on a Saturday afternoon and retrieve it later that day. I request an extra pocket. I am one for symmetry, therefore I will need two pockets.

The new coat fits perfect. I am happy, though my wallet goes on a diet.

The only problem, I’m like a guy who gets a new tattoo. I have to find a way to show it off. Any suggestions?

Carnegie Hall Underground

Everyone in New York knows you get to Carnegie Hall by practicing. At the 57th street subway station on Saturday afternoon, four men are doing just that.

There’s another way to get to Carnegie Hall: climb the steps.

At this subway stop, just below Carnegie Hall, there’s an alcove waiting area. It is sandwiched between the men’s and women’s bathrooms which are open at the whim of the attendant. These whims are generally not favorable.

The acoustics, however, are. It’s where the Doo-Wop groups from all over New York City convene to practice and perform, singing tunes of the 50’s and 60’s, from groups like the Platters, Coasters, and Drifters, some Sam Cooke, and a few gospel standards.

Purists call this music group harmony and it best describes what you hear.

The long-running WFUV radio program Group Harmony Review is hosted every Saturday night by Dan Romanello since the days when this music regularly tops the charts. It is where I first discover the music.

It is the sound of old school New York. And it reminds me of my Uncle Vinnie.

Doo-Wop is born and raised, and flourishes in post-war New York City. Its pop-chart prominence fades away about the time the Beatles play Shea Stadium in 1964.

It is one of the first music styles to break the color barrier. Salt and pepper groups form well before the Civil Rights movement takes off.

This group though consists of middle-aged black men from the 718 boroughs.

I run into Tomorraw on Saturday afternoon. They are singing in the waiting area, honing in on the harmonies, under the direction of Scout, the lead for the day.

I often see the groups after work on weekdays,

with no instruments necessary, acappella invites

spontaneity; the closest you’ll come to an instrument is a hand clap.

And a strong voice can trumpet louder than the instrument itself.

Acappella also allows for some unusual arrangements. Subway entry requires a precious metro card swipe, those who can't afford one, croon through the gates, harmonizing with the rest of the group that stands on the other side of the iron bars.

Last week I’m taking the N downtown from 57th Street. The train arrives, I sit down, and four of The Five Boroughs enter behind me.

One of group members interrupts the subway silence with an announcement aimed at his associate: "My man is having a very bad day," he says. "His girlfriend just dumps him."

And off they launch into a song about the wrongs of a relationship gone bad.

I’m not sure if it cheers up the besotted boyfriend, but it does plant smiles on our subway poker faces, and later the quartet I’m sure when they count their loot.

Almost Famous

On Saturday I visit a casting agency in Times Square. The offices are on Broadway, right above the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.

I am answering an ad on Craigslist for paid extras.

The agency is called Actor’s Rep. It’s one of these charm schools that charges 10% commission only after you get work.

It sounds straightforward and unfortunately legit.

I’m in for the interview. I sign my name and telephone number into the register and sit to watch a video about the agency.

The boss appears on screen, then a few folks gush about the gigs they land. The whole production has the whiff of an infomercial. (They provide bodies for that too.)

The assistant, Deanna, cuts the show short and invites me into her office overlooking Times Square.

I talk more than she does. This is always the case.

She tells me I will be good for Law & Order. I tell her my brother once has a speaking role on that very show. She tells me she is from Kansas. I resist the urge to quote a line from The Wizard of Oz. I am done making amusements so I proceed to read the monologue in front of me.

Beau:

Hadda take a break, my back, it’s startin’ to go. You too, huh? Yeah, it’s somethin’ all right. Really is. Hard to believe, huh? I mean who’d ever imagine. Couple a weeks ago, everything…so normal, right? Unbelievable! Couple a Sundays ago we had a barbeque. Kids playing Frisbee, dogs barkin’, franks on the fire. Some friends came over, couple of beers, nice. Just a couple of Sundays ago. Now………who knows?

I read the script with character, pausing for affect in all the right places I guess, because she tells me I make the cut. She is the filter for Richard, the owner. I am given his business card and told to call back at 11 a.m. the next day.

I am going to be famous.

I call back Monday morning and get Richard on the phone. He is waiting for my call. He tells me he’s going to send me on auditions. But, first I need headshots. He gives me a number of a photo agency and his direct line.

I ask another question and realize the line dies two sentences ago.

I call the photographer, get quoted $270 for a round of headshots, and call Richard back.

He says he’ll take off $50 from my first job for the photos.

I say let’s make a deal Richard. I’m in a bad place right now and you’re my ticket out. I’ll cash in my 401k and give you a cut of the pre-tax proceeds for your retainer.

I’ll sell my cd collection on ebay and use that to get acting and voice lessons.

That’s how serious I am Richard. But you gotta be with me here. We gotta make this happen together. We’re going all the way baby. You in?

He doesn’t hear any of this because he hangs up two minutes ago.

The man perfects the art of the swift and silent hang up.

Too bad, I coulda been a star.

The place is like show business; there’s no business, for me.