HEADS UP!!

Texting While Walking — "Wexting"

I enjoy listening to the podcast, Note to Self, available through WNYC's website. One episode on wexters (those who walk and text at the same time, often oblivious to what is going on around them) elicited a reaction from me, which I put down into words and emailed to them:

 

In your podcast, "On Wexting and Other Woes", I found your guest somewhat too forgiving of wexters and definitely so regarding the issue of an individual's power to make a difference — in this case, getting wexters to stop wexting. She discourages one to follow the advice, "See Something? Say Something", which got me to thinking...

 

Of course, I have a little more power in this regard, being a rabid... er... avid bicyclist. I often encounter wexters who have stepped off the curb and who would have me mow them down if not for my resonant tenor voice yelling, "Heads Up!!" — or the sometimes not-so-polite equivalent. It works every time — usually accompanied with a look of horror from them and a wry smile — even a malicious giggle — from me. (By the way, the bicycle bell may be the "legal" warning device, but is quite ineffective in this case, and many others.)

 

This certainly is different from encountering a wexter in less dangerous situations — say, as a pedestrian, stepping out of the way of an approaching, foot-traffic-oblivious wexter or the rather comical scene of watching a wexter walk into a street-sign pole (certainly a sight almost demanding a giggle or even a guffaw!). However, as a pedestrian there are ways to battle the oblivious wexter and/or help them avoid injury. Here's a couple of methods:

 

•             Stand still; when the wexter is just about to run into you, go "Boo!" — then run like hell. (This could be considered normal eccentric New York behaviour, eh?!)

•             If you'd prefer not to be too eccentric, simply move quickly left or right (your choice) just as the wexter is ready to run into you, then walk on. Do not look back. Most folks have sufficient peripheral vision to get the drift.

•             A rather loud "EXCUSE ME!" often works in the middle of subway stairs. Always make sure to say "Thank you" afterwards.

•             And, of course, always giggle, laugh, or guffaw when a wexter runs into something. The harder the object run into, the more vigorous you response can be. But — If there's blood, call 911... on the victim's smart phone, if possible.

 

By the way, I don't own a smart phone; it would be too much of a temptation for me to become yet another victim of wexting, falling into oblivion, or worse. And I don't use my flip-top-beam-me-up-Scotty cell phone while riding. That and texting is illegal when operating any vehicle, probably even skateboards (skexters??). Although each of us [probably] wishes not to be that silly individual who is always accosting wexters, skexters, or bicyclexters, telling them to cease and desist, the subtle art of New York streetwalking does include a sufficient repertoire of reactions to them which, I guarantee you, will get the point across enough times to buoy the ego of any anti-wexter. See Something?? Well — "Where there's a will, there's a way..." And — have fun with it.

 

A Tale of Ignorance and Stupidity

A Response to a facebook Post

Just after Thanksgiving, 2015, I saw this post on my timeline, shared by one of my FB friends. It went viral, eliciting a half-million shares and at least that many comments on various users' pages. I seem to recall, rather dimly, that this may have appeared one Monday some years ago under the "Metropolitan Diary" subsection of The New York Times. Still, it is as relevant today as it was then and, unfortunately, maybe more so.

---

"The man" has an obvious, pathologic need to control others. He is also ignorant and wasn't educated in a manner that resulted in a respect for people from other cultures, nations (incl. Navajo, Six Nations, Inuit!), and countries. He could have been of any race, but the writer chose "white" to emphasize that there is indeed some sad truth to the stereotype of Caucasian ignorance in the U.S. But please: Let's understand from the get-go that white folks in the U.S. don't have a local, national, or worldwide monopoly on these traits... right?

It's not enough to "wipe the slate clean" periodically or daily, like one facebook comment stated. That's like erasing a hard drive of all of its data. It ignores history and degrades our ability to build healthy relationships with our fellow humans. What is necessary is for all of us to work toward making our society here in the United States (note that I didn't say "America" — a continental label that is much more inclusive!) one where we all embrace knowledge, fairness, inclusion, kindness, and respect, one in which everyone is motivated to constantly reevaluate their own weaknesses and endeavor to correct them (see why you can't "wipe the slate clean"?), and one in which each person — citizen or not — cultivates an inquiring spirit ("the man" would have realized that Mexicans speak Spanish... but, like us, as their national, official language, maybe not as their native tongue!).

This is what I get out of this reported encounter. Fight ignorance. Be inclusive. Explore other [U.S.-resident] cultures. Here in NYC, every country in the world and many sub-cultures within these countries, including our own, are represented, replete with their sometimes rare and "dying" languages. What a wonderful experience — every day! And, even though New York City is extremely rich in racial, cultural, and language diversity, it doesn't mean that other regions of the U.S. are diversity deserts.

Yes, we can encourage or even require everyone to attain a certain level of fluency in English; after all, that is our official language. It brings us all together as one nation and enables us to successfully perform governmental and commercial transactions. But we cannot be "whitewashed" anymore — although we've certainly tried, mostly unsuccessfully, in the past. Whatever we call ourselves — a vast and multicolored mosaic, a melting pot, a smorgasbord, a potpourri — it must be fully realized, preserved, and nurtured, so that we can get around to the important business of building a better world for everyone — now and for future generations.

Now:

►          Turn down the volume.

►          Gather ample data and evidence.

►          Think rationally.

►          Respond not with cynicism, anger, vitriol, or disrespect, but with kindness, respect, levity and, especially, understanding.

►          If we are to have a productive conversation, we need to keep on subject and listen and think before responding.

By and through these logical and thoroughly moral techniques — probably often used by our country's founders in conceiving this nation — we can be a great people, because we can be a sum of all of our parts — one with a good head on our shoulders!

Police Brutality in Long Island City This Morning

I observed what I believe was excessive force from two policemen on the platform, Queensboro Station (Ditmars-bound N, Flushing-bound 7) from ~4:20am to 4:38am.

I got a flat tire on my bicycle, cutting short an early morning ride, so I went to Queensboro Station to take the N-train back to my home. The time was around 4:20am.

When I got onto the platform, a few men who were waiting for the train told me of a man that was being "beat up bad" by two policemen. I went to the east end of the platform and observed one higher ranking officer (lieutenant was what one witness told me, a.k.a. "white shirt") and a uniform officer struggling with a man who was down on the ground. When the man who was being restrained would wriggle (and even when he didn't), the "white shirt" would hit him forcefully with his nightstick. I was at an angle at which I could see the "white shirt" strike the restrained man's torso at where the liver is and close or on the bottom of the left ribcage. This went on for about eight minutes before the uniform officer used his radio. A couple of minutes later, about ten uniform and four plain-clothes officers arrived to assist. The N-train arrived at that time (4:38am), and I boarded the train. The man ("suspect") was not moving, and I heard the sound of a fire truck, possibly arriving at the station.

Two witnesses spoke to me at length, including one who was there when the "white shirt" and the uniform officer approach the suspect. They told me the following:

 

There was some talking to the suspect from the "white shirt", and after a bit the suspect started to walk away. One of the officers sprayed mace toward the suspect at close range and the suspect put his arm up to shield his eyes and tried to run away. The uniform officer put the suspect in a "choke hold" — both witnesses demonstrated and described to me the type that is banned by NYPD policy. Both witnesses recalled that the suspect was hit numerous times and specifically mentioned that the blows to the legs seemed to be hard enough to break them.

I asked another person who was observing the struggle whether there was blood and he said, "Yes — a lot." When the N-train arrived, two witnesses entered the train car with me; Both of them were able to get a good look out the window at the suspect, and both of them said it "looked bad".

One of the witnesses took pictures during the first part of the incident. Some others who were waiting for the Ditmars-bound N-train or the Flushing-bound 7-train saw another person taking a video of the incident, but they said that person got nervous and left.

One of the witnesses also recounted a few times when the "white shirt", who often strolled through the train, would address passengers on the N-train: one he told to move his feet out of the aisleway, another couple of passengers were told to adjust how their smartphones or purses were situated so that "some young guy doesn't come in and snatch it" (quote from witness). The witnesses' impression was that the "white shirt" "must be crazy."

I asked the man who took pictures to send them to me and that I would make sure they got to you and other news outlets. I haven't received them yet, and I don't know whether he will send them, but if and when I received them I will immediately send them to you.

I believe that Queensboro Plaza is served by the 117th Precinct.

I have lived at my address in Astoria for over 25 years.

Personal thoughts: This is the sort of incident of police behavior that I thought I would never witness. However, I also have never been terribly impressed by officers that I have encountered who are stationed in the 117th Precinct. Although I have never seen something as bad as what I saw this morning, I don't trust at least some of those who are work out of that precinct. I also am not happy with their patrol and enforcement priorities, which to me seem to favor roaming around the projects and not preventing crime in my neighborhood. This incident I describe is also not the first over-reactive police event that I have heard of; a couple have occurred in my area, too. Unfortunately, the details have faded from my memory with time.

Let's hope that those who took pictures and the video file complaints, post the photos, and send the photos and their observations to news outlets and civil-rights organizations so that the officers involved can be dealt with and disciplined for their excessive and improper behavior.

The Death of Gary Kaufman — Of Mouse and Man

I was resting in my apartment on a Saturday after having arrived back home from a horrible experience at a "rehab" center. Here's some background: Last Sunday, I had fractured a part of my femur very near the hip socket, had surgery to repair it Monday, and was discharged from the hospital on Thursday (I was treated, fed, and cared for quite well at the former Astoria General Hospital, now part of Mt. Sinai, Queens). So, I was away for six days, and my neighbor, Rich, took care of the cats. When I returned, I noticed a weird stench in the apartment, but couldn't quite identify it. It wasn't the cats, tho'.

I mentioned this to Rich, who was in my apartment helping me. He replied that he had noticed it too, and that it was especially strong right in the area of my front door, where there are two other apartment entrances. Immediately, I was struck dumb with the knowledge of what was coming from my neighbor's door, an apartment next to my bedroom: My neighbor was dead... and had been so for a while. I — and then my neighbors at the other end of the hall — called 911, and after a couple of hours the police came to check it out.

Not long into the New Year of 2015, that neighbor, Gary Kaufman, had called 911 with a health emergency, but EMS and police were unable to enter the apartment and Gary did not come to the door. The superintendent of our building didn't have copies of the keys and (with good reason) didn't think our management would appreciate the door being broken down. The super was asked to peek through an outside window of Gary's apartment off of the fire escape to observe if he was there. However, he could not see Gary in the apartment (or, rather, in the bedroom of his apartment), so the police and the EMS emergency medical technicians came to a decision to leave — which they may do at their discretion and which, I think, could be considered a reasonable action at that time.

Not long after that, I had my six days away as a result of my accident. During my time away however, Rich and I turned out to be not the only ones who noticed the stench that I observed on my return — a stench similar to the smell emanating from a dead mouse, a smell that I had experienced a few times not too long ago in my apartment (partly in thanks to my curious, playful, and rather deadly cats).

But this was no dead mouse, or pile of dead mice. On this second visit, the officer who rings my doorbell knows what several-day-old rotting human flesh smells like. Later, a Sargent arrived and asked if they could go through my bedroom window to enter the apartment from an outside window. This time, I quenched my fear of cats escaping (thankfully, both cats are still with me), and I allowed the super, the super-on-duty, the Sargent, and an officer to use my window to access the fire escape and enter Gary's apartment. A few minutes later, I received word that Gary was, indeed, very dead.

Rich and I later identified his face by a photo that the Coroner's Office crime-scene technician took; even though badly decomposed, I could identify enough of Gary's features to testify in writing that it was he. The Coroner's Office tech mentioned to me that Gary may have had a bad fall, and also mentioned that there was evidence of a table and other items having been broken as a result.

It's going to be a breezy night in my apartment. I have two windows wide open to clear the smell. I will have to keep them open until the security seals placed by NYPD are taken away and the windows next door can be opened to air out the place. Fortunately, the heat is going gangbusters, so I have heat at my feet in bed, and the riser in the bathroom plus the living room radiator will keep the rest of the apartment liveable. But the stench has thoroughly permeated much of the building's structure. In spite of fans, windows, and deodorant spray, it is still noticeable, and later in the year from time to time it will probably seep through the walls, especially on damp days. I hope it will remind tenants and visitors of both the folly and the triumph of human nature.

I very much wish I could have done more for Gary, but he was a very troubled survivor of 9/11, beyond my ability to comfort. I think the last time I talked with him he said he had cancer; if true, we still probably won't know if it at least had a direct physical/medical link to environmental conditions on 9/11. Although Issac, his brother, was unaware of any serious medical illness that Gary may have had, he confirmed that Gary did have a history of mental disorder and disease and mentioned that it existed in rather less severity before 9/11. Gary had already told me that he had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, among other things.

But during the first police/EMT visit, mentioning these things probably didn't help get him aid. Management of my building was more interested in saving a door than in saving a life. I know from personal experience that the owner and the management of my building are more interested in appearances than fixing the hole in my bathroom ceiling, among many other defects in several tenants' apartments. Maybe it could be said that greed got the better of Gary Kaufman both in life and in death. After all, his company "outsourced" its internet technology jobs overseas, and this occurred during the economic depression of the early 2000s. For many years, these two things put Gary at a great disadvantage when trying to find work in his field.

But maybe Gary gets the "last word" after all — all of this does not keep him from being a hero. Please don't be turned off by my use of this word, "hero" — I assure you that I use it sincerely. The following was recalled to me by Issac, his brother, and paraphrased by me below, during what he thinks is the only time that Gary told the whole story of his experience on 9/11 to any friend or family member. I am very grateful to Issac for sharing it with me:

Gary noticed paper flying around outside his window at work on the 80^th floor. To him, it seemed to be more than one might expect of, let's say, a disgruntled coworker tossing stuff out a window (rather hard to do through those narrow WTC-tower windows). Not long after noticing that, he felt an impact and the swaying of the tower. He came down the stairs amid a toxic shower of sheet rock and other debris and met a coworker at the entrance to the building.

Gary's coworker at Morgan Stanley's offices in 2 World Trade Center — who also happens to be a neighbor of Issac and family on Staten Island — was going to go back into the South Tower of the World Trade Center after an "all clear" was sounded on the alarm system. Gary convinced his coworker not to do so, and the two of them started away, then quickly rushed away from the collapsing building. It turned out that the two of them were among the last few who made it out alive from the first tower to fall that day.

If not for Gary's prodding, there would have been one less survivor that horrible day.

On the anniversary of 9/11, we always remember those who died that day in 2001. Many of us who live in and around New York City know someone who died either in the event itself or later as a consequence of that tragedy. I add one more person to my list today — a short but now even more meaningful list.

Gary's action on that day was a seemingly simple and small, yet profound act of loving kindness that is well worth remembering. Maybe, just maybe, recounting it will make the existence that we inhabit in this life a little more tolerable. It could rend our hearts just enough to let the light of Grace enter in and enable us also to do good. I hope this is not the only reason that we remember a somewhat shy, very intelligent, and humble human being. I hope that his brother and relatives and friends will remember all of Gary. Personally, I will strive so to do. It's the right thing to do.

Although the coroner may do some additional investigation, his brother hopes that, in accordance with his family's orthodox Jewish tradition, Gary will be buried tomorrow, Sunday January 25, 2015. May he be remembered for a blessing. May memory of his acts rend our hearts to use our intelligence and enable us to be kind, loving, humble, and giving, buoyed by the boundless grace of The Eternal One.

Rest in peace, Gary Kaufman, where there is no sorrow nor pain — but life eternal.