I'll never forget the first time I visited New York City.
It was the spring of 1987, and I had just been accepted to Columbia University with enough financial aid (basically all my tuition covered) to be able to afford it.
My dad put me on a red eye to Newark and I took a Kerry Cab to Port Authority at 6am. I called my cousin to ask him what I should do to take in some sights in New York City before I made my way up to campus.
He told me something to the effect of, "Just walk around Times Square, there's a lot to see right there."
So I set off up 8th Avenue...
Anybody who remembers NYC in the 80s will get the joke. 8th Avenue by the Port Authority in 1986 was a scuzzy, dirty, crack-driven, sex-trade mess.
I'm a city kid, but in just the first few blocks of my 7am stroll, I saw some eye-opening stuff.
No matter, I trundled up to Columbus Circle taking it all in and thinking to myself, "Man, this really is New York City."
80's New York on the street level was garish, over-sexed, and filled with small businesses and vendors vying for your attention. The city shoved homelessness, wealth and drug addiction in your face, but it was also relentlessly fascinating. I wanted more.
So when I got to the end of my campus tour, I told my guide that I was going to hop on the subway back downtown to check out this place "Greenwich Village." He paused a moment as if to acknowledge that I was not following the usual program and then admitted, "sounds like a good idea."
Washington Square Park late afternoon on a spring day was perfect. I'd never been anywhere like it. So many bodies. So many different people, cultures, languages, styles and attitudes all jammed together. People from all over the world. Around the fountain that day, Charlie Barnett held an audience of hundreds spellbound with his brand of raunchy, desperate humor. He joked about how all of us tourists were missing the real scene in the East Village, so after awhile I strolled over there.
Somewhere off St. Mark's Place I ended up just behind two young women smoking a joint they passed between them as they talked. They did this so casually, publicly and freely, I really could not believe it.
New York's street life, whatever you made of it, seemed to be about freedom, brutal honesty, personal expression and this vibrant mixture of people who actually interacted with each other...trading expressions, culture, insights and, while they were at it, oftentimes money, sex and drugs.
When I think of that day, I realize now that the energy that drew me in didn't just happen by accident, it was the people who built that city and that culture, New Yorkers and transplants alike. Whether we're talking about Keith Haring, Diane Arbus, Walt Whitman, Audre Lorde or the multitudes who inspired, nurtured and surrounded them, New York's culture was made out of the life and blood of New Yorkers themselves.
So when I heard the news about Lou Reed, I thought about that day in New York City and what we've lost: an Arbus, a Haring, a Lorde, a Whitman.
We will miss Reed's voice, his lyrics, his honesty, his attitude, his music and his charm. Without compromising his love for the city as it really was...without compromising much at all...Reed defined New York for millions who would never see it.
Reed's songs played over tape decks, lps and the radio expressed a moment, a culture and a city...and while that city will never be at a loss for singular voices and talents...today NYC lost its troubadour.
We've all lost someone good.