The Power of the Oculus Compels Me

June 2, 2016June 2, 2016 / Erica Herd / 9 Comments

Twelve years and $4 billion of public funds (Port Authority) later, the Oculus has reared its lovely (?) head and stegosaurus body for the world to see. Why commuters need such a monstrosity as a transportation hub seems to be a moot point, as it will be housing multiple high-end retail shops and is surely benefiting someone. Why the $4 billion wasn’t earmarked to rejuvenate the decrepit Port Authority Bus Terminal at 42nd Street which has not been rehauled in 40 years and filter-feeds about 250,000 commuters daily, never ceases to amaze me. Having spent the last nine years commuting in and out of this bus station from New Jersey, I can tell you that it leaves much to be desired both aesthetically and otherwise.

(all photos by E. Herd)

I guess it all comes down to perception. Now that my office has moved to the Financial District, I have been blessed with the opportunity to behold, I mean, worship, the Oculus on a daily basis. I have yet to step within its glistening turkey carcass chambers. I am waiting for the right moment. Not sure when that will be.

As John Keats said, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

Remember in 2001: A Space Odyssey how the monkeys went wild over the monolith? Well, now we have our modern-day monolith. I haven’t seen any monkeys banging at it yet.

Jesus Man

February 5, 2016February 5, 2016 / Erica Herd / 8 Comments

(photo by Taber Andrew Bain)

Jesus Man
holds
red sign
with white lettering
above his head,
it says,
JESUS!

He doesn’t
say
a word

Until today
with his fliers.
sign on the ground
I’d never seen it
out of his hands

jerking his
hand forward
machine-like
at each
commuter
trundling down
the ramp toward
subways 7, N, R, Q,
S, 1, 2, 3
“Jesus!” he said

that’s all,
“Jesus”

I shook
my head no
when he
thrust it at me
was I
shirking off
The Lord?
my final hope,
perhaps, my only
salvation?

So many fliers
cast off on
the dirty ramp
so many feet
on it
each day

Is Jesus
in that piece
of paper
in that red sign,
in that man’s hands?

If Jesus is love
he is
everywhere

The Man with the Handlebar Mustache

July 22, 2015 / Erica Herd / 7 Comments

(photo by Darrell Miller)

Ascending the escalator towards Gate 224 was a gentleman in a pin-striped navy suit jacket, lemony linen shorts and boat shoes. We stood on the same line for the express bus.

He turned around, looking in the direction of hopefully soon-to-be oncoming buses, and said, “What do you think will come next, a 162 or 163T?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye, as if we were playing a game. His white handlebar mustache and round greenish-brown-tinted sunglasses added to his mystique.

I smiled and said, “I don’t know. I leave it to you.”

“I predict it will be a 162: they usually follow the 144.”

He had the mien of George Plimpton or Peter O’Toole: the height, the long limbs, the carriage, the comfort in his own skin. Underneath the jacket he wore a button-down dress shirt and delicately patterned pink bow tie.

Within five minutes, the 162 bus barreled through. The gentleman turned around at me and smiled. I smiled back.

“You were right!” I said.

No smugness in his victory, only playfulness and fun.

I wondered about him—did he own a yacht, why did he live in New Jersey, why would a man like him take the bus?

A young man standing between us on line turned to me and said, “Do you want to sit together?”

“No, we don’t know each other,” I said.

The gentleman exited the bus in Hackensack. I didn’t picture him as a Hackensack resident. He seemed more a Cherry Hill sort, but that’s another bus line. A Billy Joel line ran through my head, “Who needs a house out in Hackensack, is that all you get for your money?”

People continue to amaze me. I suppose that’s a good thing.

A Person of No Importance

May 18, 2015May 18, 2015 / Erica Herd / 16 Comments

photo by Gill E

This morning on the “S” train which crosses from Times Square to Grand Central Station, a woman came on with an overflowing stroller containing what I assumed were all her worldly possessions, including bags of clothing and books. Her café au lait skin had sparse wrinkles, and silver braids were neatly pinned to the top of her head. She sat down, her stroller in front of her.

An agitated blond woman in a sleeveless turquoise dress addressed a male passenger, “Can you move in?”

There was a good bit of space in the middle of the car, which she felt was not being properly utilized. The man smirked at her, but said nothing and didn’t budge.

She said, “Come on, there’s room,” and she and another man pushed past him, the silver-haired lady’s stroller and climbed over my feet and that of other passengers who scrunched themselves into tight human balls.

“See?” she said. The smirking man made another face, saying nothing. Then he made fleeting eye contact with the silver-haired lady, which she may have taken as a slight.

“They’ve got the stuff they need for their jobs. I’ve got the stuff I need for my job,” she said to him, firmly, but without malice.

The smirking man said nothing.

We arrived at Grand Central Station; no one said a word.

The silver-haired lady is one of the “people of no importance,” the homeless or less fortunate people you see every day. She’s a person who probably doesn’t make you stop and wonder, who is she, how did she get to where she is today.

Yesterday afternoon, Lorin and I were watching the 1994 film, A Man of No Importance with Albert Finney. He plays a closeted homosexual bus conductor in 1906s Dublin. His true passion is theatre and he puts on amateur performances of Oscar Wilde plays at the local church hall. He recites poetry in enraptured tones to his passengers and has a secret crush on the bus driver played by a young Rufus Sewell.

Like so many (including myself), he is an “average” man of no particular importance to society or the world. But who decides what or who is of value, of importance? Do money. property and station in life truly make the man / woman? If you touch or change one person’s life or a few or a dozen in a meaningful way, are you not valuable? I think so. Who’s to say that the silver-haired lady hasn’t touched someone’s life in a profound way. I guess we’ll never know.

Giant Elbow Thug

May 1, 2015 / Erica Herd / 10 Comments

photo by Bonnie Natko

Giant elbow nudges me
I inch closer to the window
to avoid its harass
Elbows need no words
They let you know with a poke
you are not welcome here

I was not in the mood
for elbows this morning
I prayed they would leave
and take their human with them
Sometimes you get what you ask for

They got up and moved to
another seat
Perhaps in search of another body’s
space to invade or
in search of a wider stance
Either way
I am happy

Night Crawlers

April 26, 2015April 26, 2015 / Erica Herd / 13 Comments

Wally Gobetz (Port Authority Bus Terminal Subway Station, “Losing My Marbles” by Lisa Dinhofer)

10 p.m. It’s the bewitching hour at Port Authority Bus Terminal. It’s when the changeover occurs, from Commuter-land to Weirdo-ville. Even the gate numbers change. Bus 163 now arrives at Gate 409 instead of Gate 224. An endless corridor leads you to the 400 gates, or maybe it feels like that because you’re more tired. There are more tourists, young people, revelers, down-and-outs and oddballs.

It was Friday night after seeing a show. I thought the next bus was at 10:50, but that was the 164. The next 163 came at 11:05. Twenty minutes till then. The line was long.

“Can you take my jacket off? I’m like sweatin’, oh shit!” said a woman sprawled on a couple of those plastic pull-down plastic seats that can barely accommodate a toddler’s ass.

She was a dead ringer for Roseanne Barr, but much younger, in gray leggings and a loose black blouse. She was soused and loud.

Her boyfriend or the guy with her was a lean Latino of average height wearing a baseball cap. She addressed him and seemingly anyone in earshot.

She commented on a woman passing by, “A white girl got ass, what? Damn! I tell everybody to shut the fuck up.”

I could not hear what her boyfriend was saying, but I think he was trying to quiet her down.

“This be gettin’ some tonight,” she said, pointing to her crotch. “I’m gonna fuck him tonight.”

“What, you don’t like it?” She cackled, Roseanne Barr-like.

Finally the 11:05 pulled in.

The boyfriend led the girl to the back of the bus. I sat 3/4 towards the back.

A woman with two small children sat towards the back of the bus.

A white guy and the drunk girl continued shout-talking, every other word punctuated by “fuck” or “fuck you up.”

A 20 to 30-something African American man said, “Please, man, there’s children in here.”

“Fuck you!” the white guy said.

“Hey, I’m trying to reason with you, bro. Have some respect.”

“You wanna take it outside?”

The bus driver seemed oblivious to the back room antics.

“Come on, man, take it easy,” the African American man said.

“You gonna have to bail me out,” the loud guy said.

I fantasized about the bus driver stopping, letting the two guys off to settle their differences, bloody mayhem ensuing.

It felt like an eternity of back and forth, one guy shouting threats and curses and the other trying to stay calm and reasonable.

Sanity prevailed. By the time the African American guy was exiting the bus, the two had settled their differences.

“I’m just trying to get home,” the African American man said.

“Me too, bro. It’s all good,” the other guy said.

Peace, aside from the intermittent cackle from young Roseanne Barr.

Then she, her boyfriend and the white guy disembarked as well.

Heaven. I closed my eyes and relaxed for the rest of the ride home.

Kindergarten Bus

March 3, 2015March 4, 2015 / Erica Herd / 2 Comments

photo – Howard County Library System

Every morning, I turn on CBS news to check the weather and see what horrors have ensued while I was asleep. The fun part of the morning is John Elliott, the perky meteorologist who lets us know it’s “hug a squirrel day” or “eat peanut butter day”: he must have a special book he looks these things up in. Then there’s Alex Denis with the “Now Trending” segment. She shows us cute youtube videos of animals, children and adults doing the darnedest things and simple acts of kindness.

In the spirit of “Now Trending,” I want to share with you my morning news which I feel is headline-worthy (at least to fellow commuters). It happened on the NJ Transit bus when the driver said, “If you have an empty seat next to you, please raise your hand.” That’s something a teacher would say to her kindergarten class. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The bus driver was quite friendly and I know she didn’t mean to sound condescending. A lady across from me on the other side of the bus sat alone with her tote bag but didn’t raise her hand. Deliberate non-cooperation. For shame. Hey, we’re all in this together, New Jersey commuters. “Jersey Strong,” as Governor Christie says. After all, he’s always looking out for his fellow humans. Maybe she’s a germaphobe, but if that were the case, she wouldn’t be riding the bus at all—it’s filthy!

Back to our bus driver. The drivers should (hate that word—so laden with negativity and dogmatism, but nevertheless) be keeping track of how many passengers have boarded, so the showing of hands would not be needed. In my over 7 years riding the bus, no driver has ever asked us to raise our hands. But there’s a first time for everything, right?

After she took note of the raised hands and more passengers boarded, she said, “Thank you.”

You see, that makes all the difference. Thank you. She asked us to do a thing, and some did, some didn’t, and she thanked us. A little civility goes a long way. That makes it trend-worthy.

As for the lady who didn’t raise her hand, she reluctantly let a stranger sit next to her. As she moved her tote bag from the seat and placed it onto her lap, her face scrunched like a balloon losing air. Did she really think she could hog two seats during rush hour? Just plain rude.

Now, what’s trending with you?

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel 2 & Other Things That Piss Me Off

February 11, 2015February 11, 2015 / Erica Herd / 7 Comments

Screengrab

(1) The sequel to The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, aptly called The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel 2.
I know why it was made, but I don’t like the idea that it was made (to clarify, I haven’t seen it yet). Everything good (or not, sometimes) gets commodified and franchised. Don’t believe me? Watch Black Mirror. Everything I know comes from Netflix.

(2) Bad Chinese astrology.
This is my Chinese horoscope for the day:

In the news: Check for the opening of a great new play. Don’t be surprised if a celebrity you know is having an emotionally difficult time. What the heck, pick up a copy of People magazine while in the supermarket checkout line and catch up on the latest Hollywood gossip.

WTF? Okay, I guess I can do the first thing, but play-going is an expensive venture, especially in NYC. “Celebrities I know”? How many of us actually know celebrities? And I refuse to pick up a copy of People to check out the latest baby “bumps,” what Hugh Jackman eats for brunch or find out when Jennifer Aston will finally marry Justin Theroux and have that baby that we are all PRAYING for! There’s still time, Jen. We’re all rooting for you!

(3) People who stand too close to you on the bus line at Port Authority.
Do they find it comforting to stand so close—are they cold and need the body heat? Sometimes I feel like the person behind me is my long-lost Siamese twin or wants to ride piggyback. Or do I look like a leaning post to them? I am not a stick of furniture!

(4) Drivers who honk on Sundays or when totally unnecessary.
One Sunday, my reflexes weren’t fast enough to race ahead after the light changed green, and the person behind me (in New Jersey) blared his horn. Where the hell is he going on a Sunday afternoon?

(5) People who text while walking during rush hour in NYC.
Okay, folks, if you need to text, get out of the way! I’ve heard talk of a “texting lane” being established in the U.S., and it can’t come too soon. They already have it in China. They text on the busy streets, walking down and up the subway stairs and on the escalators at Port Authority. Look the hell up! There is a world out there.

(6) Dust.
It settles and grows, settles and grows and I’m allergic to it and can’t get rid of it, and I hate dusting!

(7) Governor Christie.
He announced yesterday that he could do a better job thwarting ISIS than President Obama. He went so far as to brag that he would implement the same strategies he’s used to make New Jersey the great state it is today. New Jersey is drowning, Christie! Unemployment and poverty have escalated during your tenure, residents are leaving in droves and the state ranks 49^th in terms of private sector job growth.

Whew, I feel so much better now. What pisses you off today?

Pit Stop

January 29, 2015January 29, 2015 / Erica Herd / 3 Comments

google images

This morning I saw my friend across the street and waved for her to come quickly: the bus was coming. The New Jersey Transit buses run on their own schedule: the 7:56 comes at either 8:00 or 8:01, the 8:09 doesn’t seem to come at all (unless it’s invisible), and the 8:22 arrives at about 8:15, so you see the importance of catching the bus right away especially when waiting at a bus stop with no shelter, and it is friggin’ cold outside. When I boarded, I said to the driver, “There’s someone coming from across the street.”

Wool cap pulled down, looking down at me from behind his shades, he said, “I can’t wait for somebody across the street.”

“Okay,” I said.

Guess my buddy will have to wait for the 8:22, I mean, 8:15 bus.

She made it! Not sure if he had second thoughts, or if she got lucky. Either way, I was happy for her. We exchanged smiles.

The driver was racing, stopping short, and I started feeling nauseous. What’s his damn hurry?

At the Passaic and Esplanade stop, he turned off the ignition, turned to us and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I felt like a kid on the way to a field trip being abandoned on the side of the road. I remembered the time Mrs. Nesi locked us in the classroom in third grade. She pulled down the shades and put a sheet of black construction paper in the square window in the door. She said she was leaving us because we had misbehaved, and this was our punishment. Some kids started crying; some laughed and threw paper airplanes or fired spitballs. Others sat obediently on their hands as instructed, staring into space—Catholic school will do that to you. An airless room, no AC, in June 1970.

The bus sounds were amplified: the businessman on his cell phone more obnoxious than ever, throat clearing, a fitful sneeze. Then radio silence.

Our driver abandoned ship for an excursion to 7-11, apparently to take a piss, because when he returned, there was a spring in his step. I guess that’s why he was in such a hurry.

His driving continued to be jerky, but less so than before. Thank God for small blessings. I still felt nauseous and shut my eyes, figuring what I would use for a vomit bag. The plastic CVS bag that held my lunch would do fine. Hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary.

Reading on my iPhone was now out of the question, so I put in the earbuds and tuned into Pandora radio, which now wants me to connect with friends on Facebook. But I don’t want to!

I simply want to hear a soothing refrain to get my mind off puking. The Monteverdi station, that’s good, no, how about the Django Reinhardt station. “Minor Swing” was making me dizzy so I switched to the Thomas Newman station which features film soundtracks like The Road to Perdition, The Hours and Battlestar Gallactica—much better. I was starting to feel less sick.

Oh no. As we approached the toll plaza, the driver opened the door and said to the driver to our right, “Do you want one? Do you want a problem?”

Oh my God. Is there going to be a bus drivers’ duel? What the hell?

I shut my eyes, and continued listening to The Hours by Philip Glass, burrowing snugly into my happy place.

The bus door shut. Then it re-opened. “Hey, catch you later!” our driver said, laughing.

Hallelujah, he’s happy again, and he’s not going to get into a rumble with the other guy and abandon us again, and we may all make it to work on time!

We pulled into Port Authority at 9:05—not bad at all.

“Thank you,” I said to the bus driver.

He did not respond, and that’s OK.

World Trade Center Transportation Hub: A Greed Odyssey

December 4, 2014December 12, 2014 / Erica Herd / 6 Comments

(J.C. Rice)

Neo-futuristic Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava designed the glimmering new, not-yet-completed train station at the World Trade Center. Its estimated cost, a mere $4 billion, twice the amount anticipated during the initial planning stages in 2004. The WTC station services about 40,000 commuters a day, in contrast with the Port Authority Bus Terminal (PABT) at 42^nd Street, which averages 250,000 commuters a day.

The centerpiece of the WTC train station or “transportation hub” is called the Oculus and is larger than Grand Central Station’s main concourse. It has a roof with two movable wings that are meant to open to the sky, like a “bird taking flight,” says Calatrava. At first glance, it looks more like a stegosaurus to me.

(Kordite)

“The hub is a project driven by institutional ambition, and once begun, the decisions that have made it so costly became irreversible,” said Lynne Sagalyn, director of the Paul Milstein Center for Real Estate at the Columbia Business School. She is, funnily enough, writing a book about the WTC redevelopment. Ah, to have endless streams of money for boondoggle projects . . . Patrick Foye, PA’s executive director, envisions the hub as a “world-class transit gateway” that would “help transform Lower Manhattan into a thriving 24/7 neighborhood.”

(skyscraperpage.com) Brave New World?

In June, my husband and I attended a public forum regarding the state of New Jersey Transit (NJT) bus service and the state of PABT. Senator Loretta Weinberg (D-NJ) and officials from PA and NJT were on hand. Senator Weinberg seemed in full support of the commuters’ plight, but it was more of a pep rally for the PA and NJT officials, who, judging by their statements, must never ride the buses. PA “has set aside just 0.002 percent of its $27 billion, 10-year capital budget for improvements at the bus terminal.”

PABT was last renovated in 1979, when it was a hot-bed of prostitution, drug dealing and general sleaziness. Honestly, not much has changed: I see a whole cast of characters lined up every night outside the sliding glass doors who are clearly not living the Dream.

Ralph Kramden statue at rush hour (evening) (Erica Herd)

(E. Herd)

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Terminal, it is cramped and filthy; the buses often do not run on time; the gates service up to 5 or 6 different bus lines, making overcrowding commonplace. However, I must give credit where credit is due. Since the District 37 bus forum with Senator Weinberg in June 2014, the bus lines have been shorter and the wait more bearable–due to the installation of “starters” (dispatchers) at the gates.

(E. Herd)

The ceilings are leaking and damaged, covered with makeshift tarp-like material from which garden hoses spring and empty into filthy yellow trash cans.

(E. Herd) Trash can at gate catching drippings from light fixture, 12/3/14

Sometimes you’re fortunate enough to get dripped on while waiting for your bus to arrive. The escalators leading up to the gates are caked with grime, food and other unidentifiable filth and generally non-functioning. AC is non-existent, although industrial sized stand up fans have recently been installed. The inside of the buses are filthy too–but that’s another story. There is no garage-type facility to house the buses, so they must wait in New Jersey, and circle around Manhattan streets (they are not permitted to “stand”), or drivers risk being fined by the police. Not an efficient system, to say the least.

PA has spent $7.7 billion to rebuild the World Trade Center (that includes the train hub), and was then sued by a citizens watch group because they refused to disclose financial information regarding the re-building. The $7.7 billion is borrowed money. Due to their enormous debts, PA lacks funds for much needed infrastructure and transportation projects in NY. It was prepared to give Silverstein Properties a $1.2 billion loan guarantee for construction of the 72-story 3 WTC, but that deal fell through.

In July, former NJ attorney general John Degnan was appointed new PA Chairman and immediately pushed through funding of $90 million for “emergency” repairs of the bus terminal. A drop in the bucket compared to what’s been spent on the WTC and deals with Silverstein.

I have nothing against progress, but I wonder who is truly benefiting from this monstrosity, I mean train hub. I don’t imagine that commuters using the WTC station will be frequenting the high-end underground shops, but hey, you never know.

Selfishly, I might not mind so much if some of that money were being spent on the 42^nd Street bus terminal. After all, the working slobs’ (me included) bus fare and tolls (yes, we drive sometimes) keep Port Authority alive and kicking. Hey, and the tolls just went sky high. Where is our “bird in flight”? I want a giant, winged airy structure / stegosaurus to amble through morning and night, and expensive store windows to press my runny nose up against, Oliver Twist-like. Throw us a bone, if not a bird in flight!

The next Bus Rider Forum with Senator Weinberg and officials from Port Authority and NJ Transit is scheduled for December 11 at the Rodda Community Center in Teaneck on December 11. I’ll let you know how it goes.