Less Rattle, More Hum
BY GAVIN MANLEY
The mood in Molly’s Shebeen, just before midnight on the east side of Manhattan was giddy to say the least.
The conversation among locals and bartenders on their night off had turned yet again to the scourge of the moment. A sort of incredulous acceptance washed over us as we realized (Mayor) de Blasio was serious about closing everything down that very night to mitigate the spread of the coronavirus. No restaurants, no bars, no shows, clubs or concerts – for fifteen days.
That was three weeks ago and just a couple of days after my wife and three-year-old daughter had left to spend a few days with her parents in Arizona for a pre-planned Spring Break trip.
The Supermoon rises above the Veteran's Hospital in Manhattan
As an Irishman living in New York for almost two decades, I like to think I’ve become hardened by everything this city can throw at you. The massive blackout of 2003 and the complete chaos and disruption of Hurricane Sandy have engendered a steely resilience among New Yorkers best characterized by an attitude of “it is what it is, let’s just get on with it.”
Nonetheless, as phrases like “social distancing” and “shelter at home” left the airwaves and slid into the collective lexicon with terrifying ease, the reality of existing in isolation for an extended period of time began to sink in.
"Rush Hour" looking south on First Avenue (April 2020)
The city during those first few days of the lockdown was a virtual ghost town. The din of traffic eerily absent save for the wailing of an ambulance en route to a nearby hospital. Peering out the window of our apartment which sits on one of Manhattan’s busiest cross streets, you could count the number of pedestrians on just one hand – and all of them were sporting medical scrubs.
A trip to the supermarket revealed great shortages of staples like bread, pasta and surprisingly, tins of tomatoes. The sign on the front door forewarned customers not to even bother asking about premium items like hand sanitizer, rubber gloves or toilet paper. As for protective masks, well an old t-shirt cut to size works equally well doesn’t it?
Today, as the crisis deepens nationally, daily briefings on CNN by Andrew Cuomo, Governor of New York have become a source of regular comfort and familiarity for many. The simple veracity of the Governor’s message sits in stark contrast with the misinformation and self-congratulatory backslapping which are the order of the day over at the White House.
Like many freelancers working in the creative industry here, my income is largely dependent upon my client’s marketing budgets and the broader economic outlook. Needless to say, all projects have come to a complete standstill – for now.
With my family on the other side of the country, the days can be long, but an abundance of time has led to the rediscovery of long forgotten pursuits like reading for pleasure and painting. New pastimes like meditation and even candle-pouring help to break up the monotony of a week where the days all feel the same.
The endless cycle of coronavirus “news” on TV only reinforces the gravity of the situation here and does little to seed any hope for the immediate future. In one sense, New York is like any other city on the planet right now and it’s easy to be consumed by the fear and anxiety that seem to be everywhere you turn.
And yet, in all the confusion, all of the despair, each day brings unmistakable moments of levity and hope that serve to lighten the mood – reminding us that we’re all in this together and we will get through it.
It could be the joke you share with the doorman, your smiles hidden behind face masks or watching neighbors leave out care packages for the homeless on your street. But the most remarkable example of community and solidarity happens each evening shortly before sundown.
As the clock strikes seven, New Yorkers step onto balconies and rooftops or pause momentarily on the sidewalk to whoop and holler in rapturous applause for all of the medical professionals that put their life on the line each and every day.
The ovation subsides and we move inside once more, filled with gratitude and hope for a brighter tomorrow.
(An abridged version of this article appeared in The Irish Independent on April 10, 2020)